That Which We Seek The Most
by pitbulllady
Summary: One of the most interesting things about a blind date, is that you never know WHO you'll wind up with...
1. Chapter 1

**That Which We Seek the Most…**

**A "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends" Fanfiction**

**Chapter One-Hidden In Plain Sight**

**Author's Note: This is the beginning of a sort of "sequel" to my previous Foster's fanfic, "Every Picture Tells a Story". This fic will delve just a bit further into a relationship between two of the series' main characters, Wilt and Frankie, so if the notion of a non-human sentient character having a relationship with a human character, a relationship that eventually _MIGHT_ lead to other things...if that bothers you in the least, best to give it a miss. At this point, though, I do not intend to rush things, but will let things develop at a slower, more natural pace, like most real relationships do. Things won't get too steamy, though.**

**The usual disclaimers apply here.I do own any of the characters from the tv series, "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends", including Wilt, Bloo, and Frankie. They were created by Craig McCracken, and belong to Cartoon Network. I DO own a couple of original characters in this one, namely Frankie's two human friends, "Kathie" and "Elena", as well as a few miscellaneous individuals who may show up.**

**I must inform my readers that this first chapter is not the most exciting, probably even is a bit dull, but its purpose is to set a tone for the rest of the story. Things will pick up, I promise!**

Frances "Frankie" Foster could hardly believe her luck. It was a Friday afternoon, barely four o'clock, and she was actually finished with her chores. On top of that, her "supervisor", Mr. Herriman, seemed to have been in an unusually good mood that day, and had even complimented her on a job well-done, rather than finding endless faults as he usually did. It was almost enough to make her wonder if this whole day were really a dream, and that she was going to wake up soon enough to the sound of his seemingly-endless complaints. The real clincher, though, the one thing that made her certain that this HAD to be a dream, was when Herriman approached her shortly after three thirty, clearing his throat. Frankie had been certain that the dream was going to end, and that he was going to light into her about her poor job performance, but instead, he delivered what had to be the biggest shocker of the 22-year-old woman's life.

"Miss Frances," the oversized bipedal rabbit began(he almost _never_ referred to her by her nickname, "Frankie", unlike everyone else) someone has called my attention to your on-the-job performance status as of this afternoon."

"_Oh-oh," _thought Frankie, "_here it comes."_

"And I must take this effort on behalf of the entire population of Foster's to commend you on a job well done!"

Frankie actually thought for a second that she was going to faint. This couldn't possibly be real. THIS sort of thing only happened in dreams and fairy tales.

"Come again, please?" she asked with considerable surprise and skepticism in her voice.

"I came to congratulate you on a job well done…for ONCE! Far be it from me to fail to give adequate recognition to workers who have performed their tasks admirably. If only this could be the NORMAL situation…"

"Wait…you're actually telling me I've done a GOOD job? You're not going to find something wrong or lecture me on how to put the toilet paper on the holders or something?" This just didn't seem right.

"I shall have you to know that I never fail to recognize success, nor to withhold praise when it's due. Now, are you going to take heed of the remainder of my words, or stand there gawking at me with that absurd expression plastered all over your face?"

Frankie remembered to close her lower jaw, figuring that maybe Herriman DID have a point about her looking rather absurd with her mouth hanging open like that. "Sure, whatever. Just pinch me before you leave the room, OK…so I'll know I'm not dreaming!"

Herriman paused to adjust his monocle, seemingly ignoring her last comment. "As I was saying, you have done such a commendable job this afternoon, that I have decided to let you have this evening off to pursue your usual pointlessly inane activities with your equally inane 'girlfriends' of yours, so that the lot of you may elect to spend the evening listening to that horrendously cacophonous noise that you deem 'music', gossiping about hapless male humans who are not present to defend themselves, and whatever other insipid distractions the lot of you find so amusing. AND…" he added seriously, "if you shall insist upon being pinched, you will have to call forth Pinchy from his quarters, for I shall, as they say, give that a miss!" Without even waiting for any further reply from Frankie, the six-foot-tall rabbit turned on his rather large heels, and hopped away.

For a few more minutes following his departure, the red-head just stood and stared, still not quite sure whether to believe her good fortune or not. Then, as it began to sink in that maybe this WAS real, after all, a smile started to install itself upon her face, slowly and hesitantly at first, then eventually taking a good hold. Frankie pumped her fist in the air, "YESSSS!" She tried to head off in three different directions at once, quickly discovered the futility of that, then settled on ONE-the direction of her room-before Herriman could return and change his mind. She had plans to put into place, phone calls to make, and she just hoped that at least one of her friends would be available on such unexpected short notice, but she really had to get out of sight before somebody found something else for her to do, which in this place, was a frequent road block towards any night off. She deserved this, darn it, and NOTHING was going to get in her way!

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A couple of hours later, something DID get in her way. Not the usual suspects, like a sick resident, or a backed-up toilet, or a door knob that needed replacing and couldn't wait, or even something Bloo had done, but something much more mundane and just as irritating.

Frankie could not find her keys.

She'd looked everywhere for them that a set of keys might possibly be, and even looked in a couple of places that she figured no one would ever think to look for keys, having experienced the phenomenon of things turning up in extremely odd places no one would ever think to look before, especially in THIS house- STILL no keys. This was not helping her stress level one iota. WHY _did_ things like this have to happen? WHY couldn't it happen when she had to make a trip to the supermarket on a busy day, instead of waiting in ambush for the ONE evening in a million that she had an extra night off? If nothing else, this was conclusive evidence to Frankie that life, officially, was not fair.

Her exasperation and moment of self-pity was interrupted by the sound of feet descending the stairs behind her in the main foyer, where she'd come to stop and re-think her moves after being given the good news by her furry supervisor, in the hopes that doing so would jog her memory and lead to the errant keychain. Turning around, she spotted Mac, the eight-year-old kid who'd created one of the home's more notorious residents, crossing the floor and heading for the doorway. He was obviously on his way home, this late in the afternoon, after his daily visit with his Imaginary Friend, Bloo. Once he realized that she'd noticed him, he spoke up.

"Oh, hi, Frankie! How's it going?" he spoke with a wave.

Frankie groaned out load before answering, "Don't ask! I swear, why can't my life go the way I want it to, just ONCE!"

Mac stopped in his tracks, an expression of concern crossing his young face. "You seem pretty upset; what's wrong? Bloo didn't do anything dumb today, did he?" Mac was well aware that one of the primary thorns in Frankie's side was his little blue Friend.

"No, Mac, it's not Bloo's fault-THIS time. Agghhh…Mr. Herriman gave me the evening off, for ONCE, and of all the times for something to go wrong, it WOULD just have to be NOW!" She threw her hands up in the air for emphasis.

"Well, if you could tell me what the problem is, maybe I can help. If not, I can at least be there for emotional support!"

Frankie sighed. For a little kid, Mac could be amazingly intuitive and mature sometimes. "It's my keys. I need them to drive to go over to Elena's, but I can't find them, and I've looked EVERYWHERE! I even looked in the refrigerator, for Pete's sake!"

"In the refrigerator? Why would you look for keys in THERE?" The puzzled eight-year-old asked.

"Well, you see, I'd lost the remote control this one time…oh, never mind. I guess I might as well go call Elena and tell her I'm not going to make it after all!" She turned to leave the room.

"Frankie, WAIT!" called out Mac. "I'm not trying to be a smart-alec or anything, but uhm, aren't those your keys in your sweater pocket?"

Without even turning around, Frankie reached into the right pocket of her green sweater. There, nestled comfortably inside her pocket, as smug as can be, was her keychain, with all her personal keys on it. Frankie felt the heat rush to her cheeks with embarrassment as she turned towards Mac, knowing it had taken the eight-year-old just minutes to find something she'd been seeking, unsuccessfully, for hours. Still, she was grateful that SOMEBODY had found the keys, so that her plans would not have to be scrapped due to lack of transportation, at least.

"Thanks, Mac. Sometimes I feel like I'd misplace my own head if it wasn't attached! I don't understand HOW I coulda missed them if they were right in my pocket all that time, though."

Mac smiled, "No problem, Frankie. My teacher does stuff like that all the time. This one time, he was looking all over the classroom for that red pen he uses to grade tests with, and we could all see it sticking out from behind his ear, right where he'd put it himself; it was really funny! Everybody was starting to laugh at him, and he couldn't figure out why! I read this story once, though, in the library, and there was this one line I can really remember, something like, uhm…oh, yeah, "that which we seek the most, with the least success, is usually hidden in plain sight right in front of us. I can't even remember the name of the story I read it in, though."

Frankie looked thoughtfully at the eight-year-old, then replied, "Yeah, that makes sense, now that you mention it. Usually the thing I'm trying hardest to find DOES turn out to be right in front of me the whole time, or in this case, right in my pocket! Anyway, have a safe walk home, and I guess I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

"Yeah, thanks, and you have a fun night out with your friends. You deserve it!"

With that, the boy headed out the door and down the walkway, leaving Frankie only a few minutes in which to collect her thoughts and leave the house herself.

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As it turned out, Frankie was not the only resident of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends who was having trouble with misplaced items. Following his daily visit with his best friend and creator, Mac, a little blue Imaginary Friend was returning to the room he shared with three other Imaginary residents, to find one of them already inside. As Bloo entered the room, he spotted one of his roommates, and one of the house's tallest inhabitants, Wilt, who was apparently so engrossed in searching for something that he'd totally failed to take any notice of Bloo's arrival. Bloo observed the seven-foot-tall –plus red Friend curiously for a few minutes, deducing that Wilt must have lost something, before announcing his presence by clearing his throat.

"A-hem!" cough, cough- no reaction.

"I said, 'A-HEM'!"

Wilt jumped a bit, startled, and looked back towards the source of the interruption from peering behind a chest of drawers. "Oh, sorry, Bloo-I didn't hear you come in!" He then lifted up the lid to Eduardo's toy chest, still looking for something. Bloo stared at him still, a bit annoyed, but decided that maybe the best way to remain the focus of attention was to instigate a conversation. Besides, his own curiosity was piqued now, and he HAD to find out what Wilt was searching for.

"Whatcha lookin' for? Anything important?"

"Well, yeah, it IS sorta important. I can't find my basketball; you haven't seen it anywhere, have you?"

Everyone in the house knew of Wilt's fondness for basketball, whether for playing it or watching it. Indeed, basketball was literally one of the reasons his creator had thought him up in the first place, so Bloo knew that a misplaced basketball was a major crisis where Wilt was concerned. He had not, however, seen a basketball anywhere, not within recent memory, anyway. Nonetheless, it entered his mind that if he found the thing, perhaps that would sorta make up for an earlier incident, just a few weeks prior, in which he'd done something rather mean-spirited to get back at Wilt for something which now seemed rather trivial.

"OH, mind if I help look for it? I'm a natural at finding lost stuff!"

"Sure, I'd love to have some help; the more eyes we have lookin' for it, the better the chances of findin' it, I guess."

A rather unpleasant thought crossed Bloo's mind, and he started to say something, but wisely(for him)kept it to himself. It had to do with the fact that Wilt, due to some misfortune that befell him long before Bloo ever met him, and probably long before he even came to live at Foster's, had only one eye. The right eye was perfectly normal, IF you can consider being positioned on top of a stalk that protruded from its owner's head "normal"(and in the world of Imaginary Friends, pretty much _anything_, physically, could be considered "normal"), but the left eye was AWOL, having been replaced by a googly fake one, and the eye stalk itself was bent sharply. Wilt adamantly refused to discuss just how this had happened, but whatever had happened to him, it had also left him missing most of his left arm, and inflicted nasty scars on both sides of his face. It seemed to Bloo that someone with only one eye to be looking for anything was a waste of time, anyway, but he held the thought in and didn't mention it.

"Now, let's use my powers of deductive reasoning here-WHERE was the last time you saw this basketball? He questioned, as he crossed the floor, rubbing his more-or-less non-existent chin with his fingers.

"That's just it; I CAN'T remember exactly. I must be getting old, I guess" Wilt replied with a chuckle, both amused and somewhat irritated at this particular effect of his "old age". "I've looked in the closet, and you just saw me look in the toy chest, but I honestly can't remember where I left it after I finished shooting hoops yesterday."

Wilt sat down on Bloo's bed, the lower bunk, sighing. Bloo continued to look the room over, high and low. Given Wilt's height, it wouldn't have been unreasonable for the ball to have wound up stuck inside the light covering. "Now, where would _I _go if I were a basketball? Ah, I know…did you look outside on the basketball court?"

"Sure I did; that was the first place I looked, matter of fact. It's not out there, though. I'm pretty sure I brought it back inside yesterday, but I can't recall what I did with it after that."

"How about under the bed? I know Mac used to lose stuff all the time, and that's usually where it would be."

"I think I looked under there already, but you can check again, just in case."

Bloo ducked down to peek under his bed, into the space where Wilt actually slept. "BINGO", he called out almost immediately, causing Wilt's remaining eye to open wide in surprise.

"Naw, now I KNOW I looked under there already! Don't tell me…" his response was cut short by the sight of his basketball rolling out from underneath the bed, the result of a push by Bloo. Wilt grinned sheepishly and shook his head in disbelief.

"See, whatdidItellya about my amazing powers of deductive reasoning? Am I good, or WHAT?" Bloo boasted as he crawled out from underneath the bed,

"Yeah, that WAS good, if I say so myself! Thanks for helpin'; I probably wouldn't have found that ball until I went to bed tonight if it hadn't been for you! What I wanna know is, what made you look underneath the bed, especially after I told you I'd already looked under there, or at least, I _think _I did?"

"It's simple, really. I knew to look in the most obvious place, since that's the place most people overlook when they're trying to find something. AND, I remembered how many times Mac found stuff he'd lost under the bed, or actually, I found it FOR him. AND, I totally ignored you when you said you'd already looked under there."

Wilt stood up from his seat on the bed, and with one graceful sweeping motion of his long arm, scooped up the ball from the floor, cradling it against his side. He strolled out into the hallway with his characteristic saunter, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor. Maybe he'd at least have a little time for a good workout on the basketball court, after all. Still, though, he couldn't help but be a bit intrigued by Bloo's words of wisdom, mainly because it wasn't often that anyone was so privileged as to actually hear Bloo say ANYTHING that could be remotely considered "words of wisdom", but partially because the whole "most-obvious-place-to-find-something-you're-looking-for-being-the-most-often-overlooked" bit. Wilt couldn't quite put a finger on it, but for some reason, he'd been having a vague, nagging feeling of something else missing from his life, besides an errant basketball. It was as if there was a void, of sorts, almost like that feeling he'd experienced for so long after being abandoned, but not quite. At least in the case of the missing basketball, he'd known what it was he was looking for, but in this instance, he was completely in the dark. He had a feeling, though, that whatever it was he was trying to find, or _needing_ to find, it was right there in front of him all along, just hidden in plain sight.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2-Girl Talk

** Author's Note: Again, I do not own either Wilt or Frankie Foster; they belong to Cartoon Network. I DO own, and DID create, Elena Trueheart and Kathie Marksdale, though. The website mentioned in this chapter is a complete fabrication, based upon those silly dating sites that are advertized everywhere nowadays. Once more, probably not the most exciting chapter, but it's needed to set the stage, so to speak.   
**

As Frankie headed for the multi-colored former school bus that served as the official mode of transportation for Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, and doubled as her own personal ride until she could save up enough money for a down-payment on a car, she caught the attention of one of the home's other residents. One eye or not, there were few things that escaped Wilt's notice, due to his height. Like a giraffe on the African savannah, his height gave him a distinct advantage when it came to spotting anything interesting or important that most people, Imaginary or otherwise, would miss. Frankie's red hair, almost as red as his own, had first called his attention away from his daily basketball workout, and as he turned to observe the young woman, he realized that she was heading for the bus. There was no way he could allow her to have to open the bus door herself, and besides, there might be something else that she needed his help with, like shopping or something. It was his nature to try to be as helpful as possible, to anyone and everyone…at least that was what his rational self tried to tell him. There was, though, this nagging little voice at the back of his mind, that was trying to say something else.

_Sure, you just wanna be helpful…and I don't suppose it matters any that this is Frankie Foster, does it?_

Wilt sucked his teeth to show his contempt for that irritating, irrational little voice, then tucked his basketball under his arm and strode over to the bus to intercept Frankie, his long strides bringing him alongside her within a few seconds. Frankie jumped a bit, startled by his sudden appearance, and half-fearing that even as she was getting on the bus, somebody would come running out with a list of more chores for her to do. 

"Wilt! I didn't even know you were out here! Please don't tell me the rabbit sent you out here to get me!"

"Well, no…nobody sent me out here; I just saw you headin' over to the bus and figured you might need some help with something. I'm sorry if I startled you."

Frankie smiled with relief upon learning that she wasn't being required back inside the house after all. "Actually, I was just leaving to go over to my friend Elena's for an extra evening off, believe it or not. Thanks just the same, though." She reached for the door handle, but found a much-larger red hand already gripping it.

"Here, let me get that for you", her companion spoke, opening the bus doors for her, and stepping to one side to allow her access to the bus steps. "Thanks, Wilt. You know, it would sure be nice if more guys were like you. Most of 'em have no idea what it means to be a gentleman these days."

Wilt grinned, but still managed to look somewhat embarrassed at the same time, and gave the basketball he'd carried with him a couple of idle bounces on the pavement. "Oh, it's nothing, Frankie; you know how much I love to help people. So, you got a night off, huh? "Bout time, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well, Mr. Herriman must have been sick or something…I dunno, but who am I to argue, right?" She paused, then turned to Wilt, who was still standing in the doorway of the bus, "Well, I guess I better get going before he wakes up and realizes what he's done and calls me back inside for speck of dirt on the floor or something."

"Oh, sorry for holding you up…didn't mean to do that! You go ahead and have a good time on your night off, OK? If Mr. H finds anything that needs doin', I'll take care of it, no problemo!" assured Wilt, backing out of the doorway, flashing his well-known smile that could be seen from the space shuttle in orbit around the planet. "Drive carefully, and I'll see ya later!"

With that, Frankie returned a smile of her own, and closed the bus door. Wilt stood next to the drive and watched the colorful bus pull out into the street, and continued to monitor its progress until it was out of sight, even for him. Something was still bugging him, some vaguely unpleasant feeling, almost like having forgotten something, or of needing something, but not knowingwhat. It was like one of those "left-for-vacation-and-wondered-if-I-forgot-to-turn-the-stove-off" feelings, just as distracting, but somehow different. His smile slowly replaced by a slight frown of puzzlement, Wilt sighed, and turned to saunter back to the basketball court, slowly dribbling the basketball as he walked, almost as automatically as most people would breathe. _Oh, well_, he mused, _whatever it is, if it's important, I'll find out soon enough, and if not, maybe this feeling will just go away. Probably nothin', anyways_.

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Later that evening, three young women sat around a somewhat cluttered(though the occupant preferred to think of it as "cozy")four-room apartment, the abode of one Elena Trueheart, who was one of the three. Her two guests consisted of two of her closest friends, Kathie Marksdale, a slightly plump blonde, and of course, Frankie Foster. The three were still engaged in the hotly-debated topic of what to do, now that all three actually had a night off at the same time. The irony of how easy it was to think of things to do on worknights, while finding it impossible to come up with anything remotely agreeable on a night off was not lost on any of them. Anything that one could suggest was quickly nixed by one of the other two, it seemed.

Kathie Marksdale seemed to fly in the face of conventional blonde stereotyping by usually being the voice of reason, and acting as a sort of buffer zone between the often firey-tempered Frankie and the impetuous Elena, and as usual, found herself in just that position that evening. Frankie, as things would have it, was insisting upon a movie, while Elena was just as insistent that the three go out to clubs and meet some guys. Even though Kathie herself was the only one of the three with a "steady guy", a fiance' , as a matter of fact, she was a flexible individual, and would be perfectly happy one way or the other.

"I don't get it, Frankie; you used to be the first one to want to head out to the clubs and try to pick up some cute guys! What happened?" queried Elena, as she struggled with a stubborn strand of hair in front of a mirror.

"I don't have a problem with clubs," replied Frankie, "but I'm just not up for the whole 'picking up guys' thingie. Let's just say that there's a lot going on at, you know, work? OK, I'm just sorta under a bunch of stress right now, and I really don't think I'd be able to bring a whole lot into a new relationship at this point."

"That's MY whole point, girl-you NEED to do something to let go of that stress, and…"

"And YOU think that meeting some new guy would be just the thing, right?" Frankie sighed, clearly exasperated that Elena could not see her point. "I mean, I don't have TIME for a relationship, Elena-not right now, anyway. It wouldn't be fair to the other person!"

"Who said anything about a 'relationship'? I was just talking meeting some cute guy, for a little…you know…" Elena wriggled suggestively.

Finally, Kathie spoke up in intervention, before Frankie had a chance to say anything else. "You know, Frankie does have a point. I know what it's like to try to meet new guys on a busy work schedule. You're just not…you know, your best. At anything. Maybe we can just rent a movie and watch it here, quiet evening at home, a little girl talk, that sorta thing. To tell the truth, I'm sorta broke right now, anyway, so it wouldn't hurt my feelings to give the clubs a miss."

Elena smirked, "Awww…you're just feeling bad 'cuz Roger can't get off work tonight, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, I DO sorta feel guilty going out to clubs and stuff without him, if you have to know."

Now it was Frankie's turn to speak up in favor of a movie at the apartment, if they couldn't agree to go to the theater for one. "The rental sounds good to me. Look, I know I must seem awfully boring to the two of you, but really, I'm just not up for the clubs right now. Besides, after my LAST date, it's probably a good idea to just take it easy in the looking for guys department."

Both Elena and Kathie knew what, or rather, who, Frankie was talking about, having been filled in, several times in fact, on the shortcomings of one Dylan Lee. Dylan Lee, as it were, happened to have been the last real date Frankie had had. The handsome young man had seemed to be Mr. Right when he and Frankie met up at one of the local clubs, but as it turned out, he'd actually been the World's Biggest Jerk, or at least that was Frankie's opinion. Such a jerk, in fact, that she'd left the boy with a bloody nose and the mother of all wedgies. The whole experience, while not her most pleasant memory, had at least clued her in as to what her real priorities were, and Dylan Lee did not fit within those parameters.

"What about that guy with the glasses you went with awhile back…what's his name…Kyle? He seemed like a pretty decent guy, so they aren't ALL bad" opined Elena.

"THAT guy? Puh-_lease_! All he cared about was his freakin' Mustang; made me take off my shoes before I got in the thing for our dates, so I wouldn't track any dirt into the carpeting. Every time we went to a club or a restaurant or something, he'd park like, half a mile away, so nobody would park next to us and bump the door with their car door. Ever walked half a mile over pavement while wearing HEELS?"

Kathie winced, "Ouch!"

Elena refused to give up so easily, though, so onward she pressed. "Alright, so maybe Kyle was a little OCD. You seemed to like David What-His-Face though-wasn't he in the entertainment business or something?"

"Yeah," replied Frankie, "IF you call being an Elvis impersonator at a strip joint 'entertainment'".

Elena looked a bit perturbed. "You know what your problem is, Frankie? You're way too picky! I mean, NOBODY is perfect, least of all MEN. I still think, though, that you really do need a man, seriously. And I'm taking this as a challenge to find you one. I hooked up Kathie and Roger, and THAT worked out fine, right, Kath?"

"Sure", answered Kathie, "BUT we had already met each other before, so it's not like we were total and complete strangers."

"Yeah, but just because you were in the same Advanced Algebra class back in high school, doesn't really mean you KNEW each other. Anyway, Frankie, whatever happened to your sense of adventure? You used to be game for just about anything, and now it's like you're…I dunno, someold person who's afraid to take risks or something."

Frankie felt her defenses on the rise. "OLD? I don't act old! And I still have a sense of adventure; it's just that it has to take a back seat to work, most of the time.

"Oh, really?" replied Elena with a challenging tone. "OK, then, girlfriend, let's see if you still have a sense of adventure or if you're ready to hang it up and join the Old Maid's Club. How about a blind date?"

"Blind date? You're joking, right?"

"Not joking at all. There's this website that's been all over tv and the radio, that matches up local people based on characteristics they are looking for in partners. No pictures, just descriptions. Then it gives you this email box so you can contact the matches, and better yet, it's free. Whatya say about giving it a try, hmmm? What have you got to lose, except another boring, lonely night?"

"Well, let's see…what do I have to lose…how about my LIFE? I mean, what if the people on that site are like, psychopaths or something?"

"I'm sure the site does criminal background checks, and anyway, you aren't under any obligation to actually meet anybody; I just thought it sounded like fun, that's all."

"Sure," replied Frankie sarcastically, "if your idea of 'fun' is being held hostage in the trunk of a car for a week, or something. Sorry, Elena, but I don't have 'STUPID' written all over my face, and there is NO WAY I'm going on a blind date arranged by some website! Forget it!"

Ten minutes later, all three young women were sitting in front of Elena's computer, with the website, BlindDatesRFun Dot com, pulled up in front of them, Frankie sitting with her arms folded and an "I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this" look on her face, while Elena typed, and Kathie sat in for moral support.

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," Frankie sighed, staring at the screen.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun! Now, let's start by filling out YOUR information, no-wait, let's fill in what you're LOOKING for in a guy, first. Age?"

Frankie looked a bit confused, "MY age, or his?"

"HIS, I think. Now, what age are you interested in? Not some old geezer, I guess. Let me re-state that; what's the OLDEST guy you'd go out with?" asked Elena.

"I dunno, like, thirty-two? Like you said, I don't want to go out with somebody on Geritol."

"Ohhh…Kaaay", mused Elena, as she typed in "40". "Now, how about a description of the guy's personality?"

Frankie thought about this. "Hmmm…somebody who's nice, and really polite, who has good manners. Maybe a little you know, 'old-fashioned', the sort who still opens doors for ladies and stuff? Somebody who's not a jerk? A guy who's like, uhm, really helpful…likes doing things for others and kinda like….you know, puts others first? Yeah, that sounds pretty good. And a guy who can…who can…" she struggled to find the exact words she was searching for.

Kathie, who'd been pretty quiet all this time, jumped in with some help at this point, "who can say 'I'm sorry' when he screws up!"

Elena rolled her eyes, even as she typed in Frankie's requirements, "Oh, get REAL! EVERYBODY knows that no guy can apologize when he screws up! It's like, I dunno, something physically wrong with their mouths that they can't even say the word, 'sorry', or something!"

Frankie started to say something in rebuttal to that assessment of guys in general, but decided that what she was about to say really didn't apply, so she kept quiet.

"OK, now what about hobbies and stuff? Well, besides EVERY guy's hobby, IF you know what I mean!" This last one got all three girls into a somewhat giggly mode, resulting in some rather off-color comments, before the conversation was able to get back on track, as it were.

"I'm not really that particular about hobbies, as long as he's not obsessed with his stupid car or anything. Sports are OK, just as long as he's not like one of those guys that turns into a sports zombie or whatever every time a game in on tv, and totally forgets he has anyone else in his life. I wouldn't mind somebody who's sorta athletic, though. Better than a couch potato, I guess. OH, and don't forget a sense of humor under behavioral traits, somebody who can laugh at even my corny jokes."

Frankie looked down at the floor at her feet for a moment, wondering if she should bother bringing up the one thing that was really on her mind, then decided she really needed to. "And, one more thing-I would need to find someone who'd understand, you know, what I do for a living, and where I stay. I guess that's a pretty big turn-off for most guys, once they find out what I do. Most people just don't really understand it, so whoever I find would have to be really open-minded."

"Alrighty then, gotcha," answered Elena. "Now, I'm ready to type in what you want the guys to know about YOU; let's start with appearance, and take it from there, shall we?"

And so it went…

Finally, the whole thing was done and submitted, and all that was left now was for Frankie to start getting messages from would-be suitors, or to take the initiative herself and send a message to a guy on the site who met her requirements. She decided it would be better to wait for a response first, being in no rush to find out just what sort of individuals would reply. Needless to say, she remained skeptical of the whole thing.

Frankie wasn't the only one who was skeptical. Both of her friends kept constantly reminding her that her expectations were set way too high; there could not be a guy out there who could measure up to them, no way. She was asking way too much, and as such, would always be destined for disappointment. Frankie was nothing if not determined and a bit stubborn, though, and she insisted on sticking with the qualities she'd outlined. "If I can't find someone this way, they'll turn up one day, probably when I least expect it, and where I least expect it", she told the other two.

___Just like my keys_, she thought randomly


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3-Guy Talk**

**Author's Note: Sorry for such a long delay between updates, but work has really been a major strain on my free-time budget AND my creativity for the past several months! I can't promise when updates will appear, only that they WILL, and that I have no intentions of abandoning this fic. Oh, if anyone is wondering where I got the idea of Wilt having to wear reading glasses, it came from the episode, "Foster's Goes To Europe", in which it was revealed that he does, indeed, need glasses to read(the left lens is busted, by the way), AND that he has allergy-related asthma, poor guy. - PBL**.**  
**

_Friday night,_ thought Wilt as he returned to his room after a long, relaxing shower. He didn't know exactly _why _the thought had popped into his head, specifically, since it wasn't as if Friday nights had any particular meaning for him any longer. Years ago, maybe…_oh, well._ He'd checked the tv listings earlier-nothing worth watching on the tube, as good an excuse as any to find time to catch up on some reading. Entering his room that he shared with three others, Wilt was somewhat surprised-rather pleasantly so-that it was empty, though where the other three were or what they were up to was unknown. All the better for reading, actually. Picking up a paperback crime novel from a shelf, Wilt plopped down on Bloo's bunk, the lower one-the one that USED to be Wilt's, before Bloo moved in, and began unlacing his sneakers with his one hand. Finally able to kick off his shoes, he leaned back, the book propped up on an upraised knee, wondering how long it would be before one, or all, of his roommates showed up and interrupted his quiet reading time.

Not that Wilt minded having three roommates…_much. _Sometimes, though, he found that he really was becoming more and more appreciative of those rare moments to himself, when he could do things like read a novel, without being disturbed. However, as was happening more and more often these days, it wasn't his roommates, or Mr. Herriman making some demand of him, or someone asking for some sort of assistance with something, as it was the effects of time, that interrupted his reading. Try as he might, Wilt was finding it more and more difficult to focus on the small print in the book unless he moved it almost completely at arm's length away, which proved rather awkward and uncomfortable. Sighing, he was forced to do something that he'd been putting off doing-getting up and retrieving his reading glasses from a drawer in the room. He had KNOWN that he would have to put those wretched things on, yet some part of him still stubbornly denied the need until the garbled print in the novel proved its point: _you ain't as good as you once was, 'cuz. _Settling back down on the bed, those odd-looking glasses propped across his eyestalks, Wilt once more opened the paperback to the page, finally able to make some sense of what had before looked more like heiroglyphics than English. After about two minutes, he decided that it was TOO quiet in the room, and reached over to the bedside table next to him and switched on the boom box, tuning it to his favorite "Old School" R&B station…_yeah, "Old School"…just like me, _he thought randomly as he returned to his reading. As if to refute his thoughts, the first thing he heard on the radio was a used car commercial:

"_MEN, are YOU suffering from MMLCS-Male Mid-Life Crisis Syndrome? Does that old clunker you drive to work every day, to your hum-drum meaningless job, just make you feel THAT much older? Do you feel that women just don't APPRECIATE you like they used to? Well, Crazy Charlie has got a deal for YOU…"_

Wilt couldn't help but to laugh out loud, at the coincidental juxtaposition of the car commercial and his own thoughts, placing the book page-down on the bed as he did so. Even as he did so, he heard the door creak open, and a familiar gruff voice ask, "Eh, what is so mucho funny, Senior Wilt?" Looking towards the door, Wilt saw two of his roomies, Eduardo and Bloo, entering the room, Eduardo first. Before he could respond, though, the pint-sized blue blob elbowed his way past his far-larger, and furrier, companion, barging into the room in typical Bloo fashion.

"You wanna know what's funny? Weeelllll…I'll tell you what's funny, Wilt old pal! You're lookin' at the new, all-time greatest 'Gorgazoids' cham-PEEN of the entire world…NO, the UN-I-VERSE! I even beat YOUR score, this time, buddy! Now, whatya say to THAT, Mr.-I-Used-To-Have-The-Highest-Score?"

"I think that's great, Bloo, but I've never played 'Gorgozoids', so there's no way you could have beaten MY score" Wilt replied matter-of-factly, as Eduardo scowled down at the little blue Imaginary Friend who'd so rudely pushed past him.

Bloo, however, was not taken aback, not in the least. In fact, if he'd actually heard Wilt's reply, he gave no indication of it. He carried on with his boasting, "THAAAT's right, accept your defeat with dignity. Soon, I'm gonna be on the cover of '_Gamer's Monthly', _AND on '_VG-TV'_! I'll be so famous, and so icy-_chill,_ that I'm gonna have to beat the women off me with a stick!"

That last part really caused Wilt to chuckle, in spite of knowing that doing so was likely to spark a challenge from Bloo.

"You'll be lucky if the womens don't beat YOU with the stick!" offered Eduardo, whose patience with Bloo's constant bragging and self-glorification sometimes tended to wear a bit thin.

"Tsk, tsk…my DEAR Eduardo, you are obviously just JEALOUS because You are waaaay too im-ma-TURE to have any clue as to what women like, you poor, poor thing, you!" taunted Bloo, shaking what amounted to his head.

"I do so TOO know what womens LIKE, so THERE!" roared Eduardo right back, causing several small items on shelves in the room to rattle a bit.

"Oh, REALLY? Well, why don't you care to elucidate, then?" challenged Bloo.

Ed began to look a bit uncertain at the challenge. "Uhhmm…if I did that, Senior Herriman would make me clean it up!" Ed placed his two uppermost hooves together in a manner than suggested he really wanted to find a way out of this little debate.

Bloo gave him a quizzical look. "Uh-HUH…Oh-KAY, Ed…I guess it's safe to say that you have NO FREAKIN' CLUE, then, as to what women actually want. As for MOI, though…"

Eduardo interrupted, having suddenly, apparently been hit with a major brainstorm of epic proportions. "I KNOW! I KNOW what it is that womens want…is POTATOES! I am mucho smart, no?"

"POTATOES!"

"Si. Potatoes." Eduardo looked very pleased with himself, as if he'd just discovered the secret to world peace hidden inside a box of crackers.

Bloo stood for a moment, his mouth open in disbelief, before offering his counterpoint to THAT assertion.

"Po-TA-toes, you say…nah-ah, let me FINISH…THAT has GOT to be the all-time STY-OOOpid-est thing I have ever heard you say, Ed, and THAT'S sayin' a LOT! Let me clue you in on what women really want, and it AIN'T no stinkin' potatoes! Women want a guy who's large and IN CHARGE, know what I mean? They want somebody who's not afraid to tell 'em what to do, somebody who's not afraid to hang out late at night with the guys, a guy who's good at…good at, PADDLE BALL and video games and stuff…who can…who can, uhh…" Bloo's claims were interrupted, quite rudely, he thought, by the sound of laughter coming from the direction of his bed.

Shaking his head, Wilt decided it was time to put a stop to this debate, before he was forced to laugh any harder and ended up pulling a muscle in his side or something. "Where DO you two get your ideas about women, anyways? Women don't want somebody to 'tell 'em what to do', Bloo, and I honestly don't think that many of 'em are especially attracted to a guy on account of a paddleball, either! And they DEFINITELY don't want potatoes, Ed, unless they're being served at a fancy restaurant on a date!"

"Ooooh, I like dates!" Ed interjected. "They are so sweet and juicy…but not as much as I like potatoes, though!"

This provoked another chuckle from Wilt. This, he mused, was one of the reasons he liked Eduardo so much, and felt so protective of him; the guy was just like a young child, innocent and vice-free.

Wilt continued, "No, Ed, I don't mean THAT kinda date. The kind I'm talkin' about is like when a man and a women go out together, you know, to like restaurants and movies and basketball games and stuff, to get to know each other better. That way, they can find out if they really like each other and if they're compatible, so that if they decide they want a more serious relationship, they'll know more about each others' likes and dislikes. Dates are supposed to be fun. AND," he continued, "women don't' like guys who tell 'em what to do. What women REALLY want is respect from a guy, and being spoiled maybe just a little…you know, takin' 'em out to romantic movies, candlelight dinners, flowers at work, the right kinda music at the right time…that sorta thing" Wilt added, with what appeared to be rather like a vaguely nostalgic look on his scarred face.

There was a moment of very profound silence following Wilt's final statement.

"And you know this HOW?" Bloo shattered that silence.

Wilt started to answer, but that little voice in the back of his mind, the one that had kept reminding him just a few minutes earlier that he wasn't getting any younger and therefore the ridiculous reading glasses were a necessity, NOW cleared its throat and warned him that perhaps this was a topic best left alone.

"…." Was as far as he got.

Bloo waited for an answer, and failing to receive one, launched his inquiry again. "Once more, I ask…AND you know this HOW?"

Wilt realized, little voice or no little voice, that he'd probably already let one cat too many out of the bag, and once out, it wasn't going to go back in without somebody getting scratched up and bitten really badly, so the best course of action was just to let it go, and run right along with it. He knew now, that he might as well concentrate on making sure that none of its brethren got out.

"Uhm, well, Bloo…I know this because…because…I…uh..actually have, uhhhm…_known_ a coupla women, you know, back in the day."

By now, Wilt could see that he had the undivided attention of both Bloo AND Eduardo, who were both now staring at him with what seemed to be a mixture of fascination and disbelief. He hoped that he hadn't said way too much already, and could sense yet another proverbial cat clawing its way out of that proverbial sack.

Bloo cleared his throat. "When you say, 'women', do you mean as in HUMAN women, or exactly what?" Eduardo arched a massive eyebrow, as though to reiterate Bloo's question.

"Well, yeah, Bloo…I mean, what other kinds of women ARE there? I mean…"

"Wait, wait, wait…now, LET me get this straight…" Bloo cut in, "You're telling ME that YOU, Wilt…have actually, as you put it, quote-end-quote, 'KNOWN a couple women', as in, like, been out on dates with 'em and stuff, like those people on '_The Loved and The Loveless',_ is THAT what you're trying to say here?"

The little voice in Wilt's head was practically _screaming_ at him now to _SHUT UP…fake a heart attack, pretend to suddenly go deaf, ANYTHING_…but he did his best to ignore it, bagged-up felines and all, and tried to answer, if for no other reason than hoping it might finally shut Bloo up.

"Welllll….yeah, Bloo, now that you put it that way…yeah. I guess I have."

This was followed by yet another round of profound silence, broken finally by Bloo's hysterical fit of laughter.

"Now THAT is the funniest thing I have EVER heard! You expect ME, Blooregard Q. Kazoo, to actually believe that YOU, with that…that ARM like that, and that, how did you put it, 'WONKY' eye, have actually been out on DATES? With HUMAN women? Oh, I swear, Wilt, you are just the funniest, THE funniest, I tell ya!"

Wilt frowned at the reference to his, uhm, losses, as Eduardo sprang to his defence. "Well, Mr. Smarty-Aleck, if Senior Wilt says he is been out with ONE HUNDRED human womens, then he is been out with one hundred human womens, so THERE!" Ed stuck out his tongue at Bloo to emphasize his point.

_Oh, well, so much for a quiet evening of reading, _thought Wilt. _Looks like this is gonna be a long night…_


	4. Chapter 4The Wager

**Ch. 4-The Wager**

**Author's Note:  
FINALLY! Somebody fixed the "bug" with my Document Manager so I could upload this chapter! I got a lot of inspiration for this chappie from the episode, "Room With a View", not the least of which was Wilt having this competitive, take-no-prisoners side to him that probably took some fans by surprise. It makes sense, though, if he was created to play basketball; he'd HAVE to have an "edge" to his personality, one that time and unpleasant circumstances have most likely dulled a bit, but it's still there. Once again, I've tried to keep the characters as true to the series as possible, and to keep the off-beat sense of humor, without compromising the sense of conflict and angst. I've also based this whole little wager thing on how guys often DO act when a bunch of them are together; it's generally inevitable that at least ONE is going to start running his mouth about his past, uhm, "conquests", if you will, and being the oldest and most mature of the lot, as well as one that many human female fans(I won't name names and don't have room to point fingers, since I stand guilty as charged)do find rather attractive in an odd(or IS it?)sort of way, I figured Wilt would be the one. And y'all KNOW that Bloo would assume that tickets to a professional NBA basketball game would only be "a dime a dozen".  
**

It had seemed like a good plan at the time, to simply go up to his room and kill a couple of hours, alone, reading a novel. However, as they say, the best-laid plans of men _and _apparently, Imaginary Friends, often miss the mark by a wide margin, and Wilt's plans had missed it by a good mile or more, thanks to the appearance of his two male roommates, Bloo and Eduardo, shortly after he'd finally settled down to read. Bloo's boasting of being the next Gorgazoids champion of the universe had led to a discussion of what women wanted in a guy, or on a date, which had prompted Wilt to chime in with HIS two-cents' worth. THAT, as it were, had involved him dropping what was, to Bloo at least, a veritable bombshell regarding Wilt's past in his pre-Foster's years: he had actually dated human women!

Wilt had known, even as the words came out of his mouth, that he should have butted out of this conversation, or better yet, gotten up and left. However, he'd feared that doing the latter would have seemed rude, and as for doing the former, well, his ego simply could not let Bloo's comments slide by without a rebuttal.

Yes, Wilt did have an ego. It wasn't' something he was proud of, and he struggled really hard, with, it must be said, a great deal of success, to keep it under control. In his younger days, his ego had been much harder to suppress, and had often gotten him into some sticky situations. That, however, had been before "The Incident", of which Wilt tried _very_ hard not to think. One of the effects of "The Incident" had been to put a very effective muzzle on that competitive, self-glorifying facet of Wilt's nature, so that most people who met him would find it difficult to believe that Wilt was even capable of arguing or disagreeing with anyone. However, just as Wilt was really good at keeping his competitive, ego-driven side under control, Blooregard Q. Kazoo had proven just as effective at being able to tap into it and release it, and once let loose, that competitive side was difficult to regain control of. Wilt could feel it slipping its collar now, all the more worse because one of the things he feared it could do was to prompt him to reveal things about his past that he felt were better left hidden. Indeed, he'd already revealed one tidbit in particular, and even while his mouth had been saying it, his mind had been pleading that other two either wouldn't catch it, or wouldn't believe him. Eduardo, with his four-year-old-child-like mindset and innocence, had not been a problem. Bloo, however, was, and ironically, it turned out to be Bloo's hoped-for disbelief that set off Wilt's competitive side, after all.

"So, you've supposedly, as you say, '_known', _human women, eh?" Bloo remarked snidely, hands on what amounted to his hips, "and you expect ME to actually believe THAT load of horse hockey? Give me a BREAK!"

"Sorry, Bloo, but I honestly could care less if you believe it or not. It happened, though, and besides, all I was tryin' to say was…", Wilt tried to say as he stood up from the bed, stretching as he did so.

"Weeeeeellll, then, Mr. Stud-Muffin, if you were such a hot ticket with the ladies once, you think you could pull it off again, hmmmm?"

"…that women don't really like to be pushed…What? I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"What, you've gone half-deaf as WELL as half-blind now? I SAID, 'do you think that you could pull it off A-Gain'-you know, as in actually successfully ask a HYU-Man female out on a date, and go out with her, and stuff?"

Wilt's more rational, logical, and civilized mind was now locked in a loosing battle with his competitive side, and the latter, tired of being constantly repressed, decided to go for all-out control of his mouth. He chuckled in a manner that suggested Bloo's question to be the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Well, I'm sure I _could,_ Bloo, IF I actually WANTED to, that is! _MY _point, though…"

"_Chicken!"_

Wilt was taken aback. "What?"

"I said, 'CHICKEN'! I think you just made the whole thing up about going with human women just so you could win an argument with ME, knowing that this wasn't possible, so you got desperate, didn't you? You're way too chicken to ask out a human, 'cuzz you KNOW what she'd do? She'd laugh you right outa the room, that's what! Or, she'd take one look at you and run away screamin'! Isn't that right, Ed?"

Ed scowled fiercely at Bloo. "No, is NOT right! Senior Wilt is no CHICKEN! He saves me from big, scary spiders and sleeps under the bed where it is really dark, with no nightlight! He even eats(gulp)….", Ed's voice trailed off to an abrupt whimper, "_broccolis!" _He then regained some of his fierce momentum before continuing with his defense of his best friend/protector, "Senior Wilt is no afraid of NOTHING; he is bravest Imaginary Friend I ever meet, and he sure not scared to ask some womens for some _dates, _or any other fruits!"

"That's right, Bloo! I mean, why _should_ I be scared to ask somebody out on a date? It's not like she's gonna bite my head off or somethin'!"

Bloo pondered for a moment, and then a particularly nasty grin began to make itself at home across his face. "Well, then, Wilt old buddy, what say you and I make a little bet, a little _wager, _if you will?"

By now, the rational part of Wilt's mind was looking for a place to hide. That do-or-die, ego-driven, competitive side was loose in the pit, and the scratch line had been drawn. It was too late to call off THAT dog, now. When he spoke, his voice was low and serious, like the rumbling of gathering waves against the shore, miles away, that signal the approach of a Category Five hurricane.

"Fine. You wanna bet? _Bring it on!"_

For several minutes, Bloo said nothing. There was nothing he _could_ say. He just stood there and stared at Wilt; he'd totally NOT expected Wilt's reaction to that challenge to be _this. _This, of all things, was not what Bloo had anticipated at all.

Wilt was actually forced to prompt him to respond, "_Wellll, _are you on, or not?"

"Uhhhhhmmmm…but aren't you going to say, 'but BLOO, I cannot possibly go against YOU in a bet! That would be most unfair and most unlike my usual soft, push-over self to do that?"

"No way, Bloo! You started it; I'm finishin' it! Now, what you got to put on the table?"

"Table?"

"Yeah, Bloo. You can't enter into a wager without something to bet. Both sides have to be able to put something up that they'll forfeit if they lose, so whatya got?"

"I, uhhh….got aaaa…._WAIT!_ This was MY idea first, so YOU uh, put your, uh, _stuff_ on the table first!"

Eduardo interjected, "I hope it is not really big an' heavy stuff, 'cuzz we only got a _teeny_ little table, and if it breaks, you two is gonna be in BIG trouble with Senior Herriman!"

Ignoring Ed's otherwise cute comment, Wilt frowned, rubbing his chin with his one hand, as he tried to think of something he had worth betting, when a thought struck him.

"I'm sorry, but what exactly is this bet about, anyways?"

"Oh," said Bloo, "the bet is, that you won't be able to actually go out on a date with a human chick, er, uh, woman. Woman. Yeah, that's it."

"Oh, yeah, now I remember. OK…here's what I have. You know that collection of vintage sports collectible cards that I have, the one I keep locked up in a safe deposit box downstairs?"

"You mean the one that has all those cards from famous sports figures since the dawn of time? The one you won't even let anybody touch? The one that is the ONLY thing you still have in your possession from the time before you came to Foster's? The one that's worth like, ten thousand dollars, or something? _THAT _collection of vintage sports collectible cards?"

"Uh-huh. _THAT_ collection of vintage sports collectible cards!"

Eduardo suddenly looked aghast, and reached over to tug on Wilt's red, white and blue terry cloth wristband to get his attention.

"Sorry, not NOW, Ed…"

"But, Senior Wilt, you cannot bet your sports cards! They is the only thing you got left from your old life, before…you know, before you come here to live at Foster's! What if you lose and Bloo gets your cards?"

Even through his adrenaline-pumping competitive mode, Wilt still managed to smile at his friend's concern. "Don't worry Ed, I won't lose. I'll…"

Laughter interrupted whatever it was that Wilt was trying to say. "Oh, don't be silly, Wilt, you joker, you! Of _course_ you'll lose! What woman in her right mind would go out with you? You're an _IMAGINARY FRIEND,_ for one thing, and, and…just LOOK at you!" Bloo's gaze swept from Wilt's fake left eye, to his stump of a left arm, down his ridiculously long legs, then back up to his full eight feet of height, just to emphasize his point. Bloo smiled in what he accurately figured was an infuriatingly smug manner. "Those cards are as good as _mine!"_

"But you don't even like sports! What you gonna do with all those sports cards?" asked Eduardo.

"Oh, I'm not gonna _keep_ 'em, silly! I'm gonna _SELL _'em on Schmebay! If those cards are worth thousands of dollars, I'll be a MILLIONARE! But don't worry, Ed, if it bothers you that much, I'll even cut you in on a twenty or so after I get rich!"

"That is SO not gonna happen, Bloo!" Wilt leaned over his rival, getting right in his face, "I did it before, and I can do it AGAIN! I'll show YOU that I'm not the loser you think I am, and I WILL get a date with a human woman, AND go out with her, and," it was now Wilt's turn to look smug-"who knows what _THAT_ might lead up to, hmmm? I'll prove that I'm still the lean, mean, lovin' machine I was in my younger days!" Wilt straightened himself back up, something obviously trying to press itself onto his thoughts. "Hey,", he added, snapping his fingers, "now that I've put MY cards on the table, what exactly are YOU gonna bet, in case YOU lose, which you WILL, huh? You gotta have something of equal value to my ante, you know."

"Weellll, let's see? What DO I have to bet against your sports cards. My paddleball collection? Noooooo…I don't think that's worth more than maybe…I dunno, several hundred at most. MAC? Naww….I think that's against the law, for some styu-pid reason." Bloo's eyes darted around the room, looking for something he could bet. They fell on a target, and with a quick grab, he snatched it up.

"I know! I can bet this stuffed Beanie Buddy rabbit! It must be worth something by now, since they don't make 'em anymore, right?"

_"NNNOOOOOOOOO!_ YOU NO CAN BET MY PACO! GIVE HIM TO MEEEEE!" Ed screamed, panic-stricken, as he lunged across the room with astounding speed to snatch the tiny stuffed bunny from Bloo's hands, immediately clutching it to his chest and cooing soothingly to it, "Is alright, Baby Paco! Ed save you from that big MEANIE!"

"_YEAH,_ Bloo!", a frowning Wilt admonished, "You can only bet something that YOU own, NOT something that belongs to a third party!"

"Whoever made up THAT idiotic rule? And who said anything about a party? Any-hoo, let me see…what to bet, what to bet…."

"Co-_CO _co co co CO!" came a voice from the direction of the doorway. The forth roommate had apparently arrived, and, more to the point, had apparently been standing there long enough to get the gist of what was going on.

"Oh, hi, Coco," Wilt greeted his only female roommate. "So, you said you know what Bloo can bet, huh? OK, let's hear it!"

Coco, by far the most bizarre-looking of the four roommates-an odd concoction of a crashed cargo plane, a tropical bird and a palm tree-stepped into the room and cleared her throat.

"Co CO coco, Co co co co co _CO_ co Co CO CO!"

Wilt beamed. Ed smiled and continued to stroke Paco's Styrene-filled head. Bloo frowned.

"Hey, that sounds like a GREAT idea, Coco! What do you think, Bloo?" asked Wilt.

"I think it sounds like a totally LAME idea…whoever heard of…wait, what am _I_ worried about, anyhow? It's not like _I'M_ gonna lose or anything! OK, you gotta deal, Wilt!"

"Fine! Then it's settled; if I can't get a date with a human woman, I have to give Bloo my priceless collection of vintage sports collectible cards. If I DO-and I WILL-and BLOO loses, then HE has to do ALL my chores around Foster's for a whole month! How's that sound, deal or not?"

"Wait just a minute, there's one more detail we haven't ironed out yet! Just what kinda timeline are we talkin' here for you to be able to get this so-called date, Wilt old buddy? A couple of days, a week, a YEAR! 'Cause I'm not exactly the patient sort, you know, and I want MY money off Schmebay as soon as I can get it!"

"OK…gimme two, no, THREE weeks…three and a half at the most. If I haven't met someone, and successfully asked her out, in that amount of time, you win. That sound OK with you?"

Bloo reached around behind him and picked up a little desktop calendar from atop a chest of drawers, then a pen, and began counting days. Finally, he grinned, and circled a particular day on the calendar. "Alright, sounds fine with me. You've got until THIS date," he said, pointing the one he'd circled, "to go out on a date with a human woman, and provide PROOF!"

"Proof? Like, what kinda proof? Restaurant receipts, basketball ticket stubs, what?"

"Why no, silly! Anybody can go to a restaurant and get a receipt, or get tickets to a professional basketball game! Pshhh…those things must be a dime a dozen, anyway! No, I need something more tangible, like, oh, bring her back here afterwards!"

"What? Bring her back HERE?"

"Why, yes, Wilt. Bring - her - back -here. To Foster's. Now, how hard can that be? I mean, it's not like it's gonna be a great big surprise to her to find out all of a sudden that you're really not HUMAN, and that you live in a house full of other Imaginary Friends because NO ONE WANTS YOU, now is it?"

Wilt gritted his teeth over Bloo's remark, but he knew that they had to eventually agree on some way to prove he'd held up his end of the deal, or else they could be here arguing about it all night. Swallowing back his own comments, he extended his hand to seal the bet. "OK, so it's a bet then. Three and one-half weeks…I win, you do my chores for a whole month; I lose, I forfeit my card collection. AND I bring my date back here to meet everyone, so you can have proof that I _still got it_! Is that OK?"

"Indeed it is, Wilt, indeed it is", replied Bloo as he met the handshake, sealing the bet.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Coco had a suggestion. "Coco co co co coco co coco co co co co coco coco coco?"

Wilt wiped his wristband across his forehead. "Sounds like a plan to me, Coco. I guess all this bet-making is sorta stressful, after all, and I for one could use a bit of tv to help take the edge off! You with us, Ed?"

"Oh, SI! Me and Paco is coming down to the tv room right now!"

"How 'bout you, Bloo? You comin' with us, or what?" As agitated as Wilt had been a few moments ago, he seemed right back to his old, laid-back self now, a trait that always got on Bloo's nerves, for some reason. Still, inside, Wilt's mind was in turmoil. He had a strong feeling that he'd just let his big mouth write a check that he KNEW his butt couldn't cash, all to satisfy his ego, and to show Bloo up.

"Oh, I guess I'll be down in a few minutes. See you guys in a little while." Bloo stood and watched the other three leave, listening to the sounds of their fading footsteps as they headed for the tv room to watch a bit of television before bedtime. He grinned, rubbing his hands together. "But first, Wilt, my _LOSER _pal, you, I need time to think about what I'm gonna do with all that money I'm gonna make from sellin' _YOUR _sports cards! Oh, this is so rich…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5-A Self-Made Dilemma**

**Author's Note: Sorry for those of you who were expecting a bit more action by now, but I felt that this loooong chapter was needed to set a tone for things to come, so to speak.**

**The lyrics that Wilt is singing in this chapter, by the way, are from the R&B classic, _Hang On In There, Baby, _written and recorded by Johnny Bristol, 1974. Writing from Wilt's perspective is so much fun, since it brings back memories of my own!**

_Eleven-fifteen. _The glowing red numerals from the clock on the small bedside table seemed to taunt the owner of the single eye capable of viewing them, as he lay wide-awake on the floor underneath the room's lower bunk. _Eleven-SIXTEEN. _Wilt sighed. He'd done his best to avoid actually looking at those glowing red numerals, since it has always been his experience that the more aware of the time he was whenever he was having trouble sleeping, the harder it became to actually fall asleep, and the faster time seemed to go by. It wasn't often, fortunately, that Wilt HAD trouble falling asleep, not anymore, anyway. Not unless something unpleasant was on his mind, and that, as it turned out, was the case tonight. In the bed above him, the cause of that trouble snored soundly, completely unaware of the anxiety-ridden situation underneath that bed. _NO, _Wilt chastised himself mentally, _You can't blame Bloo for being Bloo! You had the option of turning away, and keeping your mouth shut, but **you** screwed up! You let a two-foot-tall blue blob get to you, and look where it got you! NOW just how do you plan on getting yourself out of THIS mess, hmm?_

_How, indeed? _Wilt furiously avoided looking at the darned clock again, knowing that doing so would only add to the problem. He had to help Frankie with breakfast in the morning, and he needed sleep, but his dilemma kept nagging at him. He rolled over on his side, so he'd be facing away from the clock, and closed his one real eye.

He totally failed to fall asleep. Trying not to groan out loud enough to wake any of his three roommates, ESPECIALLY not Bloo, whom he knew would probably derive great satisfaction from knowing what tribulations his little bet was causing the other party in the wager, Wilt rolled over again. How long had it been since he last looked at the clock? Five minutes? He opened his eye.

_Twelve-eleven! _It was all Wilt could do to keep from actually saying a word that he DEFINITELY didn't want the others to hear him say. _MAN, has THAT much time passed already? I have to get up at six-that's enough sleep, right? Riiiiiggtttt…._

_00000000000000000000000000_

_Six-twenty-five. _The glowing green numerals on the clock seemed to be trying to say something rather important to Frankie Foster, though it took nearly 10 more additional minutes for her brain to register exactly _what _they had tried to say. "OH, SHOOT!" yelled the red-head out loud, to no one in particular, as she practically bolted upright and lunged across the small space that separated her bed from the alarm clock. Grabbing the offending piece of electronics in her hand, she glowered at it in disbelief. _Surely _she'd remembered to set the alarm, hadn't she? One look told her that, NO, the alarm had not been switched on, therefore it stood to reason that it had not gone off and awaked her at six-o'clock, to make breakfast! All that mess the night before, with her friends challenging her to go on a blind date by actually using one of those stupid internet dating sites must have left her mind a bit scrambled. "Mr. H. is gonna SOOOO chew me out!" she groaned out loud to herself, as she hastily struggled to fight off the last remnants of sleep and pull on some clothes. "Man, I just hope that everyone ELSE decides to sleep in this morning so they don't notice that breakfast is a bit late!" _What a dumb idea, thinking you can find Mr. Right through one of those dating sites! Only desperate losers go on sites like that! I can just hear it now, "Oh, sorry, Mr. Herriman; I sorta overslept because, you see, my friends talked me into going on this internet dating site and filling out all this information so I can hook up with some OTHER loser who can't find a date any other way and…WHAT? You don't care? I can't have a night off for another YEAR? NO WAY!"_

"Alright, gotta make toast, gotta make coffee, gotta pour the juice…gotta…gotta FIND MY DARN SHOES…Whoa, just calm down, Frankie-calm DOWN! You know the shoes have gotta be in this room, somewhere!" Frankie tried to reason with herself, glad that there was no one in outside in the hallway to hear to talking to herself like a crazy woman. She took a deep breath, looking around, sighing with relief as her eyes fell on first one sneaker, underneath her bed, then the other, over near the door. "Man, I musta been brain-fried when I got in last night!" The one consolation her mind could find, though, was that Wilt was most likely up and already starting to prepare breakfast himself, after what was surely(for him)a nice, long night of peaceful rest, so she knew she could at least look forward to his jokes and sense of humor to start off the morning the right way, and hopefully Mr. Herriman wouldn't notice that she'd showed up a bit later than usual.

_000000000000000000000000_

As it turned out, Frankie WAS right about one thing: Wilt WAS already in the kitchen, starting to prepare breakfast. She was absolutely mistaken about him having had a nice, long night of peaceful rest, however. Wilt's night, had in fact, been anything but restful, and he pondered on that fact over his second-no, THIRD, cup of black coffee as he struggled, one-handed, with a twist-tie on a loaf of white bread, wondering just how long it would be before those two hours(_WAS it two hours? More like an hour and fifteen minutes, you mean…)_ of sleep he finally had been able to grab would last before he simply conked out like a worn-out engine. _Yeah, old and worn-out…and you think you 'still got it'! _The previous night, unable to sleep, Wilt had finally resorted to putting on his headphones and tuning in to that R&B station, "Old Skool 99", which played soft romantic classic Soul hits late at night, the sort of music that had more or less been the soundtrack of his early life, "back in the day", as he liked to put it. It had worked, actually, giving him that precious two-hours(_yeah, if that's what you wanna call it)_ of sleep, before his own internal alarm clock had awakened him, on time, fortunately, to go downstairs and help Frankie with breakfast. He'd been a bit surprised to find the kitchen still dark when he got there, since Frankie was usually there before he was. Still, he had a job to do, and sleepy or not, he couldn't let Frankie down. Surely she'd be down in a few seconds, the thought of her walking through those swinging doors actually helped wake him up a bit, or, was it the coffee? _Must be the coffee; yeah, that's it._ To further help him to stay awake and at least alert enough that he didn't do something completely stupid, like pour orange juice in the toaster, for instance, Wilt started to sing an old song that he must have been listening to when he finally fell asleep. The thought occurred to him to tell Frankie about his situation, with the bet with Bloo, but should he trouble her with a problem he'd gotten himself into? After all, SHE wasn't the one who made him agree to that bet, was she?

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As Frankie hastily approached the swinging doors to the kitchen, practically holding her breath that Mr. Herriman wouldn't catch her showing up late, she thought, at first, that someone had left a radio on in there. She paused for a second just outside the doors, and it was then that she realized that the singing was a capella; it was not a radio or stereo, but her usual breakfast assistant providing the morning's entertainment. She smiled to herself as she listened to Wilt's singing, musing that he DID actually have a very nice singing voice, though he'd never admit it. As she listened, she became aware that the lyrics of this particular tune were, by what she assumed were Wilt's standards, anyway, a tad…_racy._

_"Hang on in there, baby_

_hang on in there, darlin'!_

_I'm gonna give you more_

_Than you ever thought possible._

_Don't be afraid, baby_

_We can't help but make it,_

'_Cause there's true love between us, girl._

_So let's touch that cloud that every_

_Girl dreams of…"_

Grinning mischievously, Frankie quietly stepped through the double doors, watching her breakfast helper at the counter performing a little bump and grind to accompany his singing, then spoke up.

"And exactly WHAT cloud would THAT be, Wilt?

Perhaps it was too much coffee, combined with the events of the previous night, but Wilt's reaction was a bit more than even Frankie had anticipated. He spun around abruptly, his eye wide open, and his form colliding rather roughly with the counter top, as though he were going to leap backwards upon it.

"Aagghhh! Oh, MAN, Frankie, you like to have scared the DAYLIGHTS outa me!"

"Sorry," Frankie said, rather meekly; she hadn't really meant to nearly give the guy a heart attack, after all. "I was just listening to you singing, and…"

"Me SINGING? Uh, how long were you listening, exactly?" Wilt questioned, feeling an uncomfortable warmth spreading its way across his face, and glad, for once, that his "default" color was already _red!_ He rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand.

Frankie could barely suppress a giggle, knowing exactly _why _it would matter to Wilt just how long she'd been listening. "Look, Wilt, it's cool; it's not like I'm gonna report you to the Decency Police or something 'cause you were singing some sexy lyrics! Besides, I gotta admit that you really do have a great singing voice and sounded pretty darn sexy yourself! Ever thought of a professional recording career?"

If Wilt had been able to find a conveniently large enough rock, he would probably have crawled under it at that moment. Having no such large piece of geology, though, he had to settle for a very embarrassed-sounding laugh and averting his gaze.

"No, no…never considered bein' a professional singer. I'm not THAT good, anyways! I was just singin' this song that I used to hear on the radio a lot; you know how you get this one song in your head when you wake up, and it's like, with you all day?"

"Oh, yeah, happens to me all the time. At least yours is a decent tune, though. It really bites to have this stupid ditty from a commercial or something embed itself on your brain for twenty-four hours! Anyway, how's it going?"

Wilt didn't answer for a moment, which was unusual for him, Frankie thought. He was the sort who'd normally answer, "fine, goin' great" to that question even if he was currently under attack by a pack of rabid wolverines, just because he didn't want his troubles to cause anyone else any problems. Instead, he just sighed.

"Alright, tell me what the problem is, and DON'T try to tell me that there isn't one, because I know you better than THAT!"

Wilt signed again, looking around the room as if searching for a way out, before replying, "Oh, really, it's no big deal, Frankie. I really wouldn't want to trouble you because of something dumb that _I _did." He waved his hand in the air, dismissively.

Frankie looked a tad worried now. "Come on, it can't be so dumb that you can't tell ME about it. At least you'd be getting it off your chest, even if I can't be of much help."

Wilt leaned back against the counter top, facing her, his fingers drumming nervously on the edge of the counter. He started to tell her-maybe she actually _could_ help; after all, Frankie WAS a young woman, and maybe the perspective of a human female was exactly what he needed, but no. His pride wouldn't let him-now just now, anyway. He bit his lip as he tried to think of _something_ to tell her that would take her mind off being concerned for him. He'd made his bed, darn it, and he was just gonna have to sleep in it…_sleep…man what I wouldn't do for some of THAT right now! _Fortunately, a rather odd coincidence saved him from having to do something that Wilt totally dreaded doing: making up a bald-faced lie to tell Frankie. A glance around to the counter, where he'd been preparing toast just a few minutes earlier, revealed a pot holder than seemed to have gone missing.

"I, uh…I'm sorry, but I seem to have lost theeeeee….uhm, pot-holder I was gonna use to put this, this…rack of toast in the over. Yeah, that's it…can't find the pot-holder. Don't know what happened to the little sucker!" Wilt gave a half-hearted, nervous chuckle.

Frankie didn't buy it, but she also knew from experience that there was no point in pushing Wilt to talk about something he didn't want to discuss. For all his positive character traits-helpfulness, politeness, caring for others, and so on and so forth-Wilt could be one of the most hard-headed individuals on the planet, and he was a master of keeping secrets. So, even though she arched her brow to show her skepticism of his excuse, she leaned around him to pretend to look for the missing pot-holder. It did not take her long to find it, though it was, she had to admit, in a rather odd place-sitting on the flat bread rack, amidst several slices of white bread, ready for the oven. Her skeptical frown morphed into a grin. "So, you were planning on toasting that thing, or what?"

"Huh?" Wilt followed her gaze with his own, and it actually took him a few seconds to spot the errant cloth pot-holder sitting there on the bread rack, innocently pretending to be a slice of enriched white bread. Honestly, he did NOT remember putting it there, and why THERE, of all places…'_nother senior moment, I guess. _He couldn't help but laugh out loud at why his mind would be so addled as to put the pot-holder on the bread rack, but he got an even bigger laugh imagining what would have happened if it had actually got toasted and wound up on someone's breakfast plate! "Man, I'm glad you spotted that, Frankie! Can you imagine how it would have been if somebody had gotten that thing on their plate, and thought it was a piece of toast?"

"Yeah, especially if it had been Eduardo", Frankie giggled, imagining the chaos THAT would have generated, "he'd cause a scene that would make that beach panic scene in the movie _Jaws _look tame by comparison!"

Wilt laughed again, glad to have some levity to his day at last, to take his mind off…things, and to keep him awake. Boy, Frankie's mention of that movie sure brought back memories! "I dunno, Frankie, that scene was pretty wild!"

Frankie shook her head as she turned and began getting things from the refrigerator. "You know, I still can't see how that movie freaked people out like it did back then; I mean, that shark looked _SOOO_ fake and cheesy!"

"Sorry," answered Wilt, still glad for an excuse not to have to tell Frankie what a fool he'd made of himself the night before, "BUT, you gotta realize that back then, that was state-of-the art special effects. I mean, they didn't have computers and stuff to make movies like they do now. Besides, if you'da had the chance to go see it a theater-full of scared people, it woulda seemed a whole lot more real! Watchin' on a little tv set, with all the commercials 'n stuff, just isn't the same!"

Frankie placed a large jug of milk on the counter. "Did YOU get to see in theaters, when it came out, I mean?"

"Oh, heck yeah! About 50 times!"

"FIFTY times? You're kidding, right?"

"OK, maybe it was more like, I dunno, twenty. I mean, EVERYBODY went and saw it again and again. It's like we couldn't get enough of being scared, I guess." Wilt grinned broadly, his face lighting up with nostalgia, the bet between him and Bloo-and his dilemma of just how to land a human date within the next three-and-a-half weeks-momentarily buried by memories of a simpler time. "Man, Frankie, you know that part when that guy was underneath the water, examinin' that boat, and that dude's head popped outa that hole…I mean, you KNEW _SOMETHIN' _was gonna happen, right? 'Cuzz of that music…but I swear, the first time I saw that movie, and that head popped outa that hole underneath that boat, I like to have sh…ssshcreamed. Screamed. Yeah, that's it!"

With that, the two of them nearly fell over with laughter, and were still laughing when a familiar Spanish-accented voice cut in.

"Who's head popped out of _what_ hole, Senior Wilt?"

Both Frankie and Wilt turned around to face Eduardo, standing by the swinging doors, his own head cocked to one side in curiosity, rather like a really big and odd-looking puppy dog. Before Wilt could reply, though, Frankie did, and it was not in a way that, to Wilt, was going to help the situation at all!

"Oh, Ed…that guy that got eaten by the shark. HIS head popped outa the…_HoMFFF!"_

Before Frankie could even finish her sentence, before she could react in any way at all to the sudden movement from behind in her direction, a large, warm red hand had plastered itself firmly across her much of her lower face, covering her mouth, as she felt a pair of even-warmer lips brush against her left ear and breath caress her cheek, sending an unexpected sensation, rather like an electric shock, but much more _pleasant, _through her startled body. For an instant, Eduardo simply ceased to exist, as her mind tried to cope with this completely unexpected turn of events.

A low, silky masculine voice, with a slightly warning tone, purred in her left ear, "Ix-_nay _on the ark-_shay _alk-_tay, _OW-_NAY…_O-Kay?" Her brain struggling to remember her "Pig Latin" from her childhood and sort out what she'd just been told, her gaze shifted up to Wilt's single eye, barely more than a centimeter from hers, then followed his gaze as it shifted from her…to Eduardo, who was standing by the doors, his own face having grown pale, an expression of absolute horror gripping it.

"You mean there is _SHARKS? _Here at Foster's? And they bite somebody's HEAD off?" Ed's voice went up at least an octave with every question.

"Oh, NO, Ed…there are NO sharks at Fosters! No sharks here at all-isn't that right, Frankie?" the voice next to Frankie's ear spoke up loudly and urgently.

"Uhmmff..uhn..UHHHMMFFF…!"

"Oh, SORRY!" Wilt had not realized that he still had his hand covering Frankie's mouth. He quickly removed it, grinning sheepishly at her while trying to stand tall and look as reassuring as possible to his terrified friend. Frankie took a deep breath, still shaken by the powerful sensation that she'd just experienced, and trying to make some sense of it while thinking up something to say to Eduardo that would hopefully forestall one of his panic attacks.

"Uh, oh…right, no sharks at Foster's, Ed! Everyone is perfectly safe from…sharks…here! I can personally guarantee that no one will be eaten by a shark while at Foster's!"

Frankie might as well have been talking to the refrigerator.

Ed looked even more ashen than before, grabbing his head in his front hooves in a manner that Wilt knew was a sure precursor of all all-out, patented Eduardo panic attack, as he moaned, "!_Ay caramba! El tiburon_ is gonna eat us all _UP! _I must go warn the others, before they all gets their heads bit off by _el tiburon!" _With a characteristic yell of pure panic, Eduardo turned and bolted out of the kitchen through the double doors, and Wilt and Frankie could both hear the resulting excitement as he made his way, like the proverbial bull in the China shop, though the dining area, where many of the home's residents had already gathered for breakfast. A rather uncomfortable silence built between the two of them, finally broken by Wilt.

"Uh, look, Frankie…I'm sorry about grabbing you like that, I uh…"

"Don't worry, Wilt. I'm the one who should be apologizing here, since I'm the one who forgot all about Ed and his little 'hang-ups'. Sorry, I really didn't mean to scare him."

"Oh, no, Frankie, don't apologize. It wasn't your fault, really. We were just cuttin' up a bit and it slipped out; I totally understand!" Wilt laughed a bit, and tried to force a smile.

Frankie attempted to match the smile, knowing that she'd still been at fault, and should have known better. "Yeah, I guess he'll be alright, once he calms down and realizes that there really AREN'T any sharks at Foster's! Besides, I'm sure he'll forget all it by bedtime, knowing Eduardo, right?"

"Yeah, I hope so. But look, I guess I need to go find him, and try to talk some sense into him, you know…help calm him down before he knocks down a wall or somethin'." Wilt looked down at the floor for a second, then back at Frankie, "Sorry, but I hope you'll understand. Is that OK?"

"Sure, no problem, Wilt. You do what you gotta do, and I can handle breakfast."

With that, Wilt strode out of the kitchen, to go in search of his terrified friend/roommate. _Great,_ he thought as he pushed his way through the swinging doors, _NOW I've got TWO reasons why I won't be getting any sleep…for a second night in a ROW!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6-Tempus Fugit**

**Author's Note: THANK GOODNESS FOR SRPING BREAK! Oh, sorry...got carried away there. I just don't often find time to sit down and write, that's all, with having to get up before the chickens every morning for 10 months out of the year. Not a lot of action in this chapter, I'm afraid, though it is necessary in order to establish what happens in up-coming chapters. Things will liven up a bit later on, I promise.  
**

As Frankie hung up the phone, after nearly an hour-long conversation with her friend, Elena, she had to ask herself, _has it REALLY been nearly three weeks?_ It seemed like only a few days ago that she'd gone over to hang out with her friends, and wound up letting Elena and Kathie talk her into putting up her profile on one of those ridiculous dating sites that promise to help people find their one true soul-mate. OK, maybe not a soul-mate, in the case of THIS dating site, since you can hardly expect to find a soul-mate on a site that bills itself as "BlindDatesRFun Dot Com", now can you? Her friends, it seemed, were concerned that Frances "Frankie" Foster, now nearly 23, was destined to spend the rest of her life a cloistered old maid, due to what they considered her undue "pickiness" when it came to choosing Mr. Right. They'd convinced her that she should at least try to have a little fun, live a little now and then, and take risks, and that had led to her putting up a profile on the aforementioned dating site, sans picture, in the hopes of finding someone of like interests…someone who'd meet HER criteria, which included an understanding of just what she did for a living. _Yeah, riiiight…_

Frankie did have to admit that if nothing else, she got plenty of amusement at reading the anonymous responses to her profile. Take for example, "Bob", who, according to _his _profile, loved "taking long quiet walks on the beach, playing with puppies, and cuddling up in front of a cozy fireplace." _Can't these people think of something more ORGINAL? _Or "Tony", who insisted that he was, in fact, the reincarnation of a 14th-century Ninja warrior…_Oooohhh, bet THAT would make for an interesting date!_

"Let's face it, girl; your friends are probably right. You ARE too picky! Besides, no matter how strange these guys might seem, just imagine what _they _would think as soon as they found out that you clean toilets in a house for Imaginary Friends for a living! THEN tell me who's strange!" Frankie berated herself out loud, as she flopped down across her bed. Every guy she'd gone out with had been the same-they'd either dropped HER like a hot potato as soon as they found out what she did and where she lived, or they'd started acting like total jerks, prompting HER to give them the boot…in some cases, literally! As much as she loved her grandmother, and as devoted as she was to that odd assortment of often-bizarre-looking creatures who called the place home, at least until some family adopted them, it did indeed leave her wondering if there would ever, for her, be anything more to life than this. And now, nearly three weeks had passed, and she still had not seen even _one_ profile that intrigued her on the dating site, not one guy that really seemed like someone she'd like to know a bit better, just more of the same-old, same-old, as her grandmother would put it. To make matters worse, her one night off for the month was approaching, and the thought of it being wasted, with nothing really to do and no one to do it with, other than listen to her friends tell her about how she might as become a Buddist priestess and go live on some remote mountain in the Himalayas, was really becoming a tad depressing.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

_Three weeks! Had it REALLY been three weeks? ALREADY?_

That was the predominant thought that gripped Wilt's mind like a snapping turtle, as he stared at the little desktop calendar Bloo held up in front of his face, with a fast-approaching date circled in red. _How'd the time go by THAT fast, anyways?_

Somehow, though, Wilt managed to feign indifference to that little calendar, and to Bloo's smug grin. He waved his hand dismissively in Bloo's direction.

"Like I said, Bloo, NO PROBLEMO! I've got plenty of time-I just need to sit down and choose between all the women that have been callin' ME, that's all."

Inwardly, Wilt winced. He hated to tell lies, but felt it was justified for no other reason that it would keep his opponent off-guard, and if there was one thing Wilt had learned from his experiences playing basketball, it was that _this _was the way you win the game, by never letting your opponent see you sweat.

"Oh, take your time, Wilt, take your time. Please. I'm not closing bids on those sports collector cards until this date, anyway, so it'll give me plenty of time to choose, too-and PICK THE HIGHEST BIDDER!"

Wilt scowled down at him, but said nothing more, knowing that the more he said, the worse the situation was going to get. It worked on one level, at least, since Bloo seemed to realize that he wasn't going to get any further with this conversation, either, and left the room, leaving Wilt to stew in his own pot of desperation. _Well, the Rolling Stones were wrong about ONE thing,_ Wilt mused, wondering, at the same time, just where THAT thought had come from, _Time is NOT on MY side!_ With the randomness of that thought came a new one, a more urgent one-he was not going to be able to pull this off alone. He was going to have no choice but to seek someone's help in this matter, if he expected to win. That was OK, right? He didn't remember any rules that said you couldn't have a bit of outside help in order to win a bet. If you wanna win, you do whatever it takes. Problem was, WHO'S help was he going to seek? Just WHO was going to help HIM, of all individuals, land a human date within less than a week? _One thing is certain, though-you aren't gonna find someone to help you lyin' here in the bed like a worn-out blanket feelin' sorry for youself, anymore than you can win a game by sittin' on the bleachers! _With a deep breath, Wilt forced himself to get up and head downstairs, still not quite sure what his plan of action should be, but at least secure in knowing that he _looked _as though he had a plan of action, if nothing else.

As it happened, almost the exact same thought crossed Frankie's mind at the same time. She wasn't going to land a date by lying across the bed feeling sorry for herself, no way. _HER_ first plan of action was to call…no, that was NOT her first plan of action. Her first plan of action was to go downstairs and fix herself a nice, big steamy mug of hot chocolate. Everyone knows a girl's mind functions better with chocolate on board, after all. Sitting up and sliding her feet into her shoes, she got up and resolutely struck out for the kitchen. _At least this way, _she mused, _I LOOK like I've got a plan!_

**0000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

For some reason, Frankie wasn't really that surprised to find Wilt already in the kitchen, though usually this would be somewhat odd for the evening. He would normally be hanging out with his friends now, probably watching tv or playing video games, or perhaps up in his room, listening to the radio. Lately though, Frankie's own dateless situation or not, she'd noticed that Wilt had seemed a bit…distracted, for lack of a better word. His morning conversations over breakfast preparations had been lacking something, his trademark smile seeming a bit, well, _forced. _She hadn't really bothered asking him again just what the problem was, not since that morning of what had come to be known as the "Great Foster's Shark Panic". She knew that unless Wilt _really_ wanted to discuss something, there was no point in pushing him. As frustrating as this trait could be at times, Frankie had to admit she found it intriguing, as it lent an air of mystery to this otherwise happy, optimistic being whom she'd known for so many years now, yet really didn't know at all. It was all the more obvious that something was wrong tonight, when Wilt completely failed to even acknowledge her entrance over the cup of black coffee he was sipping, even though he was facing her direction.

Frankie took a second to take all this in, before clearing her throat. Wilt nearly dropped the steaming cup of coffee as he snapped his posture upright with a startled gasp.

"Oh, s-sorry, Frankie…I didn't hear you come in", he stammered a bit, looking around for a dishrag to wipe up a bit of coffee that had sloshed out onto the floor, "how's it goin'?"

"You're drinking COFFEE, at NIGHT? I sure hope that's Decaf!"

"Uh, well, no, it's not, actually", Wilt responded, almost as if he'd been caught doing something taboo, then added with a little chuckle, "never could see the point in Decaf coffee, myself. Sorta like non-alcoholic whiskey, when you think about it."

"OHHhh-Kaaayy", Frankie responded, her eyebrows raised in surprise at hearing Wilt, of all the Imaginary Friends in the house, make a reference to alcohol. "Well, at least I have an idea of why you've been losing sleep lately."

Wilt looked stunned, his jaw dropping open as he stared at her. _But HOW did SHE know? _He tried to fake another chuckle, but it came out more like a snort, one he hoped didn't sound too nervous. "Frankie, what makes you think I've been losin' sleep, I mean, I've never slept better, I just, I just…"

Frankie silenced him with a single index finger held up in front of her. "Wilt," she began, softly but firmly, "I've known you ever since I came to live here at Foster's. You're the only Friend who's helped me at all around this place. All those mornings we've gotten breakfast ready…maybe it's just female intuition, but I KNOW something's bothering you." She paused, watching his expression, "whatever it is, I want you to know that I'm here, anytime you feel like talking about it. I just hate to see you suffering like this. You're not YOU, and I'm starting to miss the old You. Please, don't think you have to keep this to yourself, but just understand that whatever it is, I won't let it get past the two of us, OK?"

For several seconds Wilt could not even begin to compose a response. He just stared down at the floor, his mouth twisting itself up in thought. Then it was HIS turn to become the Concerned Party. "So, you didn't answer MY question, 'bout how things are goin' with YOU." He straightened up and gazed at her face, in a manner that Frankie found almost unnerving. _What, he's turning mind-reader all of a sudden? Or, am I THAT obvious?_

"Things…are…going…alright…I guess…I mean…yeah. Sorta. They're fine. Why?"

"I'm sorry; I know it's none of my business, but you've just seemed a little bit distracted, or somethin', lately, too. Wait, I didn't mean it like that…sorry!"

At times, Frankie found Wilt's secretiveness frustrating, but she also could not help but admire his determination, which, she thought, was a trait she wished SHE possessed. As it were, she found herself unable to hold back from filling him in on her plight, from her girlfriends' admonition of her lack of male companionship, to their challenge to find such companionship in time for her next night off.

"So, here I am," she stated, wrapping up her sad story, "three weeks later and I still haven't even spoken to a guy, let alone gotten a date with one. Pathetic, isn't it? It's just that every guy I meet either turns out to be a complete jerk-face, or else they go running home to mama as soon as they find out what I do for a living."

Wilt shook his head in sympathy, having listened patiently to her whole story-ANYTHING to keep from having to tell HER about HIS situation-then finally spoke up, placing his coffee down on the counter he was now sitting on. "I wouldn't worry too much about what your friends say, Frankie. I know that somewhere out there, there's this perfect guy who'll treat you like the wonderful person you are, who deserves to be with you." He then added, almost hesitantly, "Though, to be perfectly honest, I sometimes hope you never find him." Seeing Frankie's somewhat surprised expression, he continued, "I'm sorry, I just meant that if you found somebody, then you'd be leaving US. I know that's selfish…sorry…but then who would laugh at my dumb jokes or put up with my bad Luther Vandros impersonations each morning?"

"Awwww…you have a wonderful singing voice, Wilt! I thought I'd told you that, and your jokes aren't THAT dumb, not if they can make ME laugh at six o'clock in the morning!" Frankie paused, and stretched her arms out in front, her fingers laced together. "You know, Wilt," she said, softly, "If more of the guys out there were more like you, I don't think I'd have this problem. If only they could be more caring, and more helpful, and just pay more attention to others' feelings, I wouldn't feel like I was wasting my time trying to find somebody." She sighed, since she knew that there probably was no one, not anymore, who could measure up.

Wilt seemed somewhat embarrassed by the praise, as usual, but managed a softly-spoken reply, "Thanks, Frankie. That means a lot to me, really. Don't' worry, though; I know you'll find somebody. You know, if I was hu…."

The rest of his response was cut short by the opening of the swinging kitchen door, as he and Frankie both turned to see who it was, hoping that it would not be Mr. Herriman, coming in to berate them about being in the kitchen past established kitchen hours(whatever THOSE were). Instead, they were greeted by the sight of Coco, standing in the doorway with a rolled-up newspaper tucked underneath her stubby wing. Coco's appearance, while surprising, came as an immense relief to Wilt, as that little voice in the back of his head had started yelling at him again that he was about to say something _REALLY_ stupid. Coco, as it were, saved him from making this into a completely embarrassing situation.

"Oh, hi, Coco. You lookin' for me?" Wilt asked, barely able to contain a sigh of relief as the full impact of what _had_ been about to come from his mouth right before Coco walked in. Coco did not reply, but simply stood there, shifting her gaze from Wilt to Frankie, Frankie to Wilt, then back to Frankie, and letting her gaze linger a bit longer, and a bit stronger, on Frankie.

Frankie seemed to get the point. "OK, I guess you two want to talk about something, so I guess I'm gonna have to pass on that cup of hot chocolate and head on back to my room." She paused for a moment after standing up, then added, "See you in the morning, Wilt. And remember what I said, if you need to talk to me about something."

"I'll keep it mind, yeah. 'Night, Frankie", Wilt gave her one last smile as she departed the kitchen. Part of him was relieved that she'd left before he said something so profoundly stupid that it jeopardized their very friendship, and part of him hated to see her go, knowing that he really, really DID need to tell her about his plight, since Frankie, he figured, would be the one person in the entire house who'd likely be able to actually help, though just HOW, Wilt had no idea.

As it turned out, though, Wilt was wrong on one account. There WAS actually someone else in the house who could help, or was at least going to give it a try, and that someone WAS female.

"So, Coco, what's up with the newspaper?" Wilt queried his roommate and friend. Coco glanced around, as if to make sure that Frankie really had left, then reached under her wing with her beak and grabbed the paper, placing it on the table in front of them. "Co co co co co CO co" she proclaimed, very matter-of-factly.

"You found a way to help me? But HOW? With a newspaper?"

"CO, co Cococo!"

Wilt frowned, "The internet? Sorry, Coco, but I still don't get it."

Rolling her eyes, Coco reached up with one of her oddly human-like feet, and pointed to something in the newspaper, something circled in red ink. His eye following the direction of Coco's toes, Wilt looked at the part she was pointing out to him. It was an ad. Wilt picked up the paper for closer inspection, and realized that it was not only an ad, it was an ad for an online dating service, "BlindDatesRFun Dot Com. His face lit up as he realized what Coco had been trying to tell him.

"Coco, you're a GENIUS! This site promises it can hook up ANYBODY with a date! Maybe they can even help ME, right? It says, all I gotta do is to go online and register and fill out a profile and….uhm, wait…" Wilt's enthusiasm began to falter a bit. "But, this is on the internet, and I don't know that much about the internet. I don't even know that much about computers, period!" He leaned back against the counter once more, rubbing his chin with his one hand, trying to come up with a solution to this newest dilemma. Why did it always seem as though every time he found a solution to a problem, ANOTHER problem got in the way of the solution? He looked at Coco. "Do YOU know much about the internet, Coco?"

As expected, Coco shook her head, then spoke up with another suggestion. "Co coco Coco?"

"Geeky? Yeah, HE'D know…oh, wait," Wilt groaned, "Geeky got adopted last week, remember?"

Coco sighed. Wilt turned to pour out the remains of his now-cold coffee down the drain, and started washing out the mug, speaking out loud to both himself and to his companion. "Now, WHO do we know who's really good with computers and the internet and all that high-tech stuff, and who can be trusted not to blab to everybody in the house about this? I mean, there's gotta be SOMEBODY! If only…" Wilt suddenly broke off the rest of his sentence as the idea hit him like hammer, his face breaking into that characteristic grin. He snapped his fingers as he answered himself, "and I know JUST the right person to ask!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch. 7-The Game Plan**

**Author's Note: Well, my Spring Break is almost up, which means that I don't know how long it will be before I get to make another update. IF I can find time again this Easter weekend, I'll try to work on the next chapter, and really get the ball rolling.**

** pitbulllady  
**

One of the secrets to winning the game, as Wilt knew all too well, was having the right team. You had to have teammates you could count on, who each knew his role and could use his strengths to balance out where his teammates were weakest. Only now, the object of Wilt's particular "game", if you could call it that, was not to score baskets, but to land a date within less than a week. Make that a HUMAN date, a goal made all the more difficult to obtain due to the fact that Wilt was not human himself, and further compounded by the fact that he was also missing an arm and an eye, due to circumstances he preferred not to discuss. Part of his game plan, as suggested by his friend and roommate, was simply to log onto an online dating service that promised it could hook up ANYBODY with a date, in their local area. Piece of cake, right? Not exactly, not, if like Wilt, you didn't have much experience with computers and that sort of thing. Wilt tended to think of computers as something not from his era, something rather foreign and mysterious. He'd used one a few times, but for some reason couldn't really feel comfortable with the thing. It was very different, he reflected, for those who were either born or, in the case of Imaginary Friends, created, after computers had become a household item. They were exposed to the things from the get-go, while someone like himself needed a bit more time to really get used to the things. Besides, while he would never publicly admit it, using a keyboard AND that mouse thingie when you only had one hand was really more of a challenge than even HE preferred to tackle.

Wilt DID have a plan, though, and that plan also involved the drafting of a team member who DID know a lot about computers, and was really cool about not blabbing everyone's secrets. The only problem was, this team member didn't know yet, that he was going to be called upon, and worse yet, it was imperative that he didn't actually know WHY, since he happened to have created Wilt's rival in this increasingly desperate little contest. Still, Wilt was reasonably certain he'd be able to skirt that particular issue. All he had to do was wait for the team member to show up, as he did every day.

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For Mac, it seemed like any other day-wake up, listen to his older brother moan to his mom about having a stomach ache so he wouldn't have to go to school, listen to his mom lecture said older brother on the importance of an education, and on how hard she worked to provide for her two sons, go to school, leave school, walk to Foster's for his daily visit with Bloo. Little did Mac know, but he was about to be conscripted as a key player in a rivalry of sorts between his Imaginary Friend, and one of his Imaginary Friend's equally Imaginary roommates. Entering the large foyer as usual, Mac noted that no one seemed to be around-no big deal. Bloo was probably up in his room, or outside in back somewhere, with his friends. Mac hoisted his beloved backpack a bit higher up on his shoulders, and headed for the staircase that led to Bloo's room, to check it out first. His foot had barely touched the bottom stair when a hand, seemingly from out of nowhere, landed on his shoulder.

"AGHHHH!" the startled boy jumped, spinning around to face the direction that the hand had apparently come from, startling in turn, the owner of that hand.

"WHOA! Uh, SORRY, there, Mac! I didn't mean to scare you!"

Mac relaxed upon seeing whom the hand belonged to, though it did strike him as bit odd that Wilt should just walk up behind him and grab his shoulder like that, instead of his usual warm greeting. "Oh, hi, Wilt-glad it's you! You really kinda scared me for a moment there; what's up?"

Wilt looked around him, as though making sure that they were the only ones about, before giving Mac a somewhat sheepish grin and yet-another apology for frightening him like that. "Yeah, I'm REALLY sorry about the way I just came up on you like that, OK? But look, Mac", Wilt glanced around him in a conspiratorial manner again, "I kinda need your help with something, if that's OK? I mean, that IS OK, isn't it?"

"Yeeeahh, sure, I guess. What is it you need help with?" Mac inquired. Something about Wilt's tone seemed a bit odd, or perhaps it was the fact that _WILT_ was asking _someone else_ for help, for a change. As long as Mac had known the tall, red Imaginary Friend, it was always Wilt who DID the helping, and he very, very seldom asked anyone else for anything!

"You know a lot about computers and the internet and stuff like that, right?"

Mac's guard relaxed. Now THIS was something he truly prided himself on, and really felt comfortable with. "Sure, Wilt! Whatya need?"

Wilt straightened himself up. "Oh, nothin' much, just some help with a website, like you know, how to log on and all that stuff. I'm not really that good with high-tech things, so I figured I'd play it safe and ask you. You gotta few minutes?"

"Yeah, no problem. We can go to the Computer Room. But Wilt, why did you have to wait for me to show up? I mean, Frankie knows a lot about computers and stuff, too. You coulda asked her. NOT that I don't want to help, but I hate that you'd have to wait for me to get out of school and all…"

"Oh, no, no…Frankie's been waaay too busy, and I didn't want to bother her." Wilt explained as he more or less herded his recently-drafted key player towards the Computer Room, hoping that they wouldn't run into Bloo along the way. If Mac didn't have to find out about this wager between him and Bloo, all the better. As they reached the Computer Room, Wilt breathed a silent sigh of relief that they were, for the time being, anyway, the only ones present. He pulled up a chair in front of one of the computers and gestured for Mac to sit down, then grabbed another seat from in front of another unused terminal and sat down in it himself, next to Mac, straddling the seat with the back of the chair turned towards the boy. Mac quickly "woke up" the computer with a flick of the mouse. "OK, now what's this website you wanna go to?"

"OH, here it is," Wilt answered, then reached into the top of his right sock to retrieve a folded-up piece of paper he'd stashed there. He carefully shook out the folds, then handed the paper to Mac.

The boy looked at the piece of paper, a clipping from a newspaper, and a frown began to take hold of his features, causing Wilt's own grin to falter. "Uhm, Wilt? This says it's for an online dating service. WHY do you want to go to THIS site? Or maybe you got the wrong piece of paper, or something?"

_Darn it, I was hoping he wouldn't notice THAT-oh, well, whatdya expect from a bright kid, anyways?_

Wilt swallowed hard, trying to think of something to reply back with that would not sound totally dumb, and probably cause the kid to get up and leave.

"Uhhmm, well…I uhm…Yeah. I just…sooorta…thought…I'd…liketocheckitout. You know…just to kinda see who was on there, you know….sorta…?" He could see doubt written all over Mac's face now, as the kid started to give him that "you gotta be joking" look, that raised-eyebrow look. Wilt could feel heat beginning to spread up his neck and across his face, and found it necessary to avert his gaze for a moment.

"Uhhh, I dunno, Wilt. I mean, this seems sorta weird, you know, for YOU. Besides, it says here that you have to be at least 21 to log on, and I'm only…"

"But I'M over 21! I just want you to, you know, show me what to do to log on and stuff, NOT sign up on there yourself! Once you show me, I can take it from there, OK?" Wilt tried to ease the kid's apprehension with one of his trademark chuckles, but it just wouldn't come out quite right. Mac started to push the chair away from the computer, not at all certain about this. Something about this whole thing was sending up red flags all over the place. Why would WILT, of all people, want to go to one of those stupid online dating sites, anyway?

Mac found a restraining hand, gentle but firm, placed once again on his shoulder. "Mac, _PLEASE", _Wilt could not keep the desperation out of his voice, even though he knew it would probably just upset Mac even more, "I REALLY need you to help me with this, OK? I promise that once you get me logged on, you can leave and go play with Bloo. I know it sounds weird, but trust me, it's something I HAVE to do."

Mac just stood there for a moment, not speaking, studying the face of the tall red Imaginary Friend he'd _thought_ he knew pretty well. He knew that there had to be something wrong. Wilt NEVER pleaded like this, ever. He knew that he had no reason to assume that it was something trivial now, and his apprehension began to turn to genuine concern for his friend.

"Wilt, is there a problem? This isn't like you. If there's something wrong, maybe you should talk to…"

Wilt silenced him with a wave of his hand. Sighing, he knew that it was now or never-he could either tell Mac the truth, or risk the boy getting too alarmed and walking away, or worse yet, telling Frankie or Mr. Herriman, out of concern for Wilt, of course. Wilt found himself left with no other recourse.

Taking a deep breath, he started to explain. "OK, Mac. I guess I owe you an explanation for all this. I shoulda known you'd be too sharp to just go to this website, and not know what it was and all, sorry." Wilt wiped his wristband across what would have amounted to his forehead, if his head had been like a human's, that is. "You see, it's like this…man, I don't even quite know how to start with this…you see, Bloo and me…"

Mac groaned out loud, rolling his eyes. He of ALL people should have figured that BLOO had something to do with this, after all.

"Anyways, Bloo and me, we sorta got this bet goin' on, and…"

"A bet? What kind of bet?"

"Well, I was getting to that. You see, Bloo came in the room one night about, oh, I guess…three weeks ago, and you know, Bloo bein' Bloo, started sayin' some things that I guess I kinda took exception to. Not really BAD things, just…DUMB things. But that's just him. I mean, I didn't mean Bloo was dumb or anything…"

"I know what you mean. Now, what about this bet? What's it about, and all that stuff?"

"Well, I ended up runnin' MY big mouth, on account of what Bloo had said, about how I'd once gone out with human women…"

"Oh, waitwaitwait…did you just say, YOU went out with, as in DATED, human women? That IS what you just said, right?" Mac's eyebrows seemed as though they were trying to leap off the top of his head at that moment.

Wilt swallowed again, "Uhm, yeah. That's what I said, and Bloo said…"

Mac shook his head slightly, not knowing exactly HOW to respond. The whole notion of an Imaginary Friend actually dating human women just seemed, well, _strange, _to say the least. At the same time, though, Mac inwardly chastened himself, since he of all people should have known better than to think of Wilt, or any of the other Imaginary residents of Foster's, as somehow _below _humans. Besides, his natural curiosity was piqued by now.

"And just how long ago was this, that you, uhm, last dated…a girl? A human girl, I mean?"

"It was a long time ago, Mac. Long before I came here, before you were even born. Before FRANKIE was even born, really." An odd look came over Wilt's features, a look of nostalgia and remembrance, as he continued, "Things were…I dunno, DIFFERENT, back then. It was a time where people weren't as hung-up as they are now about, you know, some things…there was a lot of stuff goin' on, with a war, and the marches, and that sorta thing, and all the 'Free Love' scene…you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, doncha?"

"Uhm, no. I don't. But Wilt, I'm not even nine years old yet. And 'Free Love'? What's up with THAT?"

Wilt sighed. This wasn't getting him anywhere, except to alienate his young friend and create mistrust between them, something that Wilt had NEVER, ever wanted to cause. He reached over Mac's head and retrieved the newspaper clipping from beside the keyboard, folding it back up in his palm. "Never mind, Mac, I'm sorry to have bothered you, I guess I can figure out how to…"

"Wilt, wait. I didn't say I wouldn't help you. But I DO want to know the details of this bet between you and Bloo, if you don't mind telling me."

"Oh, yeah, the bet, right. Anyways, Bloo and I have this bet, because of my big mouth, that I would be able to get a human woman to go out with me, on a date, you know, just for fun sorta thing. Bloo didn't think I could do it, so he made this bet that I wouldn't be able to. AND he set the deadline, which is up in ooohhh, about four days. And I basically agreed to it." Wilt thought for a moment, before adding, "Yeah, I know it was stupid. Sorry."

"OK, so you two have this bet, that you can or cannot get a human woman, or girl, or whatever, to go out with YOU…on a DATE…within the next four days, am I correct so far?"

Wilt nodded, prompting Mac to continue, "Sooo, then, what happens if you CAN'T get a date…I mean, you two must have had something to wager, right? What did YOU put up?"

"You know that collection of sports cards I told you about, the one I keep in the safe deposit box?"

Mac's faced paled. "You don't mean the one that your creator gave you, the one with all those famous athletes from way back, not THAT collection of sports cards?"

"Yeah, that one." Wilt stared down at the floor, biting his lower lip a bit.

"But Wilt, you CAN'T just let Bloo have that! You KNOW he'll just sell it on Schmebay or something! It wouldn't mean ANYTHING to him, but to YOU…I mean, your CREATOR gave you that! That's all you have left from your… from your…" Mac gave up on finding the right words, and simply stated emphatically, "No, this has to stop! You HAVE to call off the bet! Just tell Bloo it's over, to forget the whole thing! He'll just have…"

"NO!" The force of the word cut short Mac's little diatribe, making him blink in total surprise. Had Wilt just yelled, "NO" at him? As if to answer that question, Wilt repeated it, though with a bit less force than the first time.

"No. I won't call it off. I got into this, and I'm GONNA see it through, one way or the other!"

"But Wilt," Mac tried to reason, "what if you lose? You don't want to have to give up those cards to Bloo, do you? I don't see why you just can't tell Bloo…"

Once again Wilt interrupted, his face now a hardened mask of determination. "I will NOT call it off! If I lose, I lose. I'd rather be known as a loser than a wall-jumper, a QUITTER, any day! I NEVER was a quitter, and I don't plan to start bein' one NOW!"

Mac was stunned. He had only on one other occasion witnessed Wilt becoming so emotional over something. Obviously, the entire notion of "quitting" had really struck a nerve, and was one of those subjects, that in Wilt's case, was better left untouched. It was several minutes before Mac could even think of anything to say, as he knew he had to chose his words carefully, lest he make an already-volatile situation even worse.

"Ooohhh-Kay…so? What did Bloo put up, in case HE loses?"

Wilt took a moment to snap out of his state of intense emotion, his whole expression changing back to one that Mac was more familiar, and more comfortable, with. "Oh, uhm, he agreed that if he loses, and I DO get a date, that he has to do all my chores around the place for a whole month."

The slightest hint of a mischievous grin began to play about the corners of Mac's mouth.

"Sooo, a whole month, huh?" He leaned forward and stretched out his hand. "How about letting me see that piece of paper again, if you don't mind."


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch. 8-Moving Right Along**

**Author's Note: This one's pretty short, but I did find time to work on it this afternoon while it was too hot outside to do anything else, and since I didn't know when my next opportunity to write would show up, I figured I'd better strike while the iron was still hot, so to speak. I guess it's no surprise by now just who this computer site has helped our dateless characters "hook up" with, is it? Still, though, it waits to be seen just how this blind date will actually progress, and I guess y'all will just have to be patient! **

_The following day…_"I'll get it" yelled Frankie to no one in particular, hearing the doorbell ring. She'd been especially busy, dusting and vacuuming the foyer, and was glad for a bit of a respite from her chores. If nothing else, though, staying busy helped to keep her mind off of her currently dateless situation. Little did she know, but she wasn't the ONLY one who felt that keeping busy with chores was a good way to forget, temporarily at least, HIS dateless situation. Preoccupied with her own work, she'd completely tuned out the whir of a weed-whacker out back, wielded by an especially tall Imaginary Friend.

Opening the front door, Frankie expected to see some rather odd-looking creature, looking for shelter after being abandoned by his/her family, or a human family coming by to either adopt an Imaginary Friend for their kid, or to leave one that their kid had outgrown. Instead, she was a bit surprised to find her friend Elena, standing on the upper step.

"Elena! What brings you by this neck of the woods in the middle of the day?"

"Oh, girl, I was just in the neighborhood, you know, shopping…and I thought I'd be nice and just drop in on you…see how you're doin'! Elena said breezily as she strolled into the foyer, looking around her as though she were inspecting the place. _You mean you stopped in to check up and see if I'd gotten a date yet, _thought Frankie, mentally berating herself for being so negative. Elena was her FRIEND, for crying out loud!

"So, let's cut right to the chase" Elena turned and spoke suddenly. "You found somebody yet?"

_OK, so maybe being negative isn't such a bad idea, _Frankie put her hand on her hip in that aggravated-female sort of way. 'Elena, you mean to tell me you made a special trip all the way out here just to see if I'd found a guy yet? I mean, get real!"

"I am being real, sweetie," her friend replied, sounding a bit hurt by the accusations, "I'm not trying to mind your business; I'm just a bit worried about you, that's all. Is it still OK for a friend to worry about another friend?"

"I guess it is, but seriously, it won't be the end of the world if I don't. Besides, I really do have a lot to do. I barely just got through dusting, and I still have the vacuuming to do, and I haven't EVEN started on the bathrooms yet, and…"

Elena pantomimed playing a violin as Frankie reeled off the list of Things-Yet-To-Be-Done, then interrupted again, "I guess you're right, but before I get out of your hair, how about let's go check that dating site and see if you got any matches, 'kay? Then I'll leave you to your Cinderella chores for yet-another day."

"I don't know, Elena, I AM really busy today, and if the Rabbit catches me goofing off, he'll hit the ceiling! I can't even get to the dusting above the doorways yet-gotta wait for Wilt to finish up the lawn work outside so I can ask him, and…"

Even as Frankie continued her protests, Elena was slowly pulling her along by the arm towards the stairs that led to her room. "Yeah, hon, but honestly, it'll only take a few minutes, and I'm sure that Mr. Harrigan, or whatever his name is, won't notice! I just hate to think of you spending another one of your nights off all alone, with nothing to do. I mean, I'm gonna be goin' out to a movie with Kyle, and…"

"Kyle? Who's Kyle? I thought you were going with Roger, or Jonathan, or whatever his name is? OK, Ok…but this BETTER be quick, 'cuzz I don't have all day, alright?"

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Wilt glanced up at the kitchen clock over a tall, cold glass of water, noting that it was five minutes till three. That meant that Mac would soon arrive, and help him log onto BlindDatesRFun Dot com, to see if the computer site had matched anyone to his profile that they'd created and put up the day before. Wiping his face and neck down with a damp cloth, he wondered if he had time for a quick shower before the kid showed up; no use making the kid have to sit next to a very hot, sweaty, covered-in-grass-clippings Imaginary Friend after he'd probably had a full day of school, now was there? At the moment, though, another cold glass of water seemed like a better idea, the first having vanished in record time. Wilt still couldn't help but feel a bit skeptical about this whole blind date site, with its guarantee to be able to "hook up anyone", and time was rapidly running out, even faster, it seemed, than his second glass of water.

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"OK, you're logged on…now let's see if you got any responses" spoke Elena, hovering over Frankie's shoulder as the red-head sat at her computer keyboard.

Frankie took a moment to look over the guys that the site had matched up with her profile, noting that there was a new addition that had just been added the previous day, one she didn't remember from the last time she'd logged on. No actual responses in her message box, though. For some reason, she was neither surprised, nor terribly disappointed.

Elena had not failed to notice the date of the last entry, and pointed out the very obvious to her companion, "Look, that one was just added late yesterday. Let's check it out and see what it says about this guy!" Frankie gave a sigh of resignation, knowing it was pointless to suggest forgetting this whole thing, and clicked on the latest entry, that of an individual known only by the series of numbers the dating site had assigned him. _That's kinda strange, _Frankie thought to herself, _most of the guys use their first names, at least, or some silly made-up name like "Super Stud" or something. _As the two young women read through the guy's profile, even Frankie could not help but to be struck by how similar it seemed to Frankie's own description, nearly a month ago, that's she'd given to her friends of the sort of guy she was looking for, and of course, THAT similarity did not escape Elena's notice, either.

Elena gave Frankie a sharp tap on the shoulder with the back of her fingers to make her point, "Giiiirrllll…this one looks like he's custom-ordered for YOU! Look what it says…likes to help others, he says he's 'mechanically inclined'-that would sure come in handy when that old bus breaks down, right? And look…he's athletic, but says he's not obsessed with sports…isn't that exactly what you said you wanted in a guy?" Before Frankie could even respond to any of these charges, Elena continued, "Oooh, look right here…'has no trouble saying he's sorry'; now THAT alone is worth getting in touch with this guy!"

Frankie read on, then interrupted Elena's praise of this unknown guy, who at this point was no more than a series of numbers, to point out a couple of things. "I don't know, Elena-I mean, why didn't he give at least a fake name? Don't you find that odd?"

Elena had an answer for that. "Maybe he just forgot, or something; you know how guys are."

"And he didn't give his age, either, not even an age range. THAT kinda worries me. What if this is just a kid or something, somebody too young to even be on here? OR, maybe he's like, you know, over the hill, and he's trying to land a young date? I can just imagine going to meet this guy somewhere, and he's like, still wearing braces, or having the nursing home attendant push him around in a wheelchair!"

"Girl, you know you think too much? What could it hurt to at least meet him publicly somewhere, and if he's like, a kid, or some old codger like you say, just tell him you have to go to the little girl's room and take off? It's not like it cost you anything, and who knows? Maybe he will turn out to the man of your dreams, right? Oh, look, it says here that he's tall, AND he's a red-head…you know what THAT means, don't you?"

Frankie turned to give her friend that look that said, "_No, but I bet you're gonna tell me!" _and answered, almost hesitantly, "Nooooo…what DOES it mean?"

"Silly, it means that he won't be making fun of YOU being a red-head, callin' you 'Carrot-Top' and stuff like that, and when you have one of your little temper fits, he'll understand where you're coming from!"

"Well, THAT is always a big plus in a guy. I know that it's the main thing _I _look for in deciding if I wanna spend the rest of my life with him! I mean, forget good looks, or caring for others, or being able to help with things around the house…give me somebody who won't make fun of me being a red-head, geeshh!"

"Oh, don't be so snarky! Look, it says right here that he's very open-minded…you know how concerned you are that guys get all freaked out over what you do, maybe this one won't. It says he's really great with kids; THAT is a plus, since most guys aren't really comfortable with the little brats…I mean, kiddies! What say you send him a message, I mean, what could it hurt?"

Frankie sat awhile and just stared at the profile of the latest match. She didn't know quite _why, _but for some reason, she had this most annoying feeling that Elena was right, for once. Maybe it was the _lack_ of details about the guy that made him seem more sincere, since all the others went on and on, _ad nauseum, _about how great they were, going into the most minute of details about their appearances, their hobbies, and of course, their, ahem, "performance abilities". The pure simplicity of this one match intrigued her, though right off-hand she really didn't know why. After what seemed like an eternity, Frankie finally moved the mouse cursor over the button marked "Send Private Message", and clicked. She then turned around to her still-hovering friend and said, "There. You satisfied now?"

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

As Mac arrived at his usual time in the foyer, he immediately looked around for Wilt, rather than Bloo, today. It didn't take long for his expected companion to show up, coming from the direction of the kitchen, though his appearance at first was a bit startling. Mac gave a bit of an involuntary "double take" at the sight of the tall Imaginary Friend striding towards him. Noticing the kid's surprise, it took Wilt a few seconds to realize that he was still wearing the modified pair of safety goggles he'd strapped around his eyestalks to keep debris out of his one remaining eye while manning the weed-whacker. No sense taking chances, right? Obviously, they DID look a bit strange to someone who'd probably never seen him wearing them before.

"Oh, sorry…I forgot to take these off. I was outside trimming up the edges of the lawn a bit before you came over," Wilt responded, reaching up to remove the goggles at last.

Mac couldn't help but to wrinkle up his nose a bit as the cacophony of odors-gasoline, sweat, dirt, and freshly-cut grass-hit him, eliciting yet-another round of apologies from Wilt.

"Sorry…didn't have time to shower before you showed up. Sorry if I smell like a lawnmower! I'll try to stay as much downwind as possible, if that's OK."

"Aww, don't worry about it. Believe me, if you smelled my brother's room, you'd know that you're NOTHING compared to THAT! Anyway, let's get to the computer room before Bloo knows I'm here; that's why I tried to get here a bit earlier than usual, so we can see if you got any hits."

Wilt looked a bit confused. "Hits? What kinda hits?"

Mac realized that he should have known that Wilt might not be as familiar with some of the internet terminology as he was, so he explained as they walked along. "OK, a 'hit' means that somebody has responded to your profile that we put up yesterday, that's all. It means that somebody wants to find out more about you, basically."

Arriving in the Computer Room, the two of them took seats in front of an unoccupied terminal, and Mac went right to work logging onto the website, while Wilt waited beside him, holding his breath.

"Hey, LOOK! You got one already! See, somebody responded to your profile after the computer matched the two of you up! See?"

Wilt leaned forward to get a closer look at what the boy was pointing at on the screen, his heart rate suddenly increasing dramatically. Could it be that this thing really WAS going to work for him after all?

Mac moved over and indicated the mouse to Wilt. "Here, go ahead and click on it, and let's see what it says about this person." Wilt couldn't keep his hand from trembling a bit as he placed it on top of the mouse, and moved the cursor over to click and read the message, from someone called "F-GirlRed", a name that Wilt had to assume wasn't her real name, at the same time realizing that HE had forgotten to include any name at all with HIS profile. Oh, well…He and Mac both silently read the message together.

"_Hi, I saw that the computer on this site had matched us up, and I just got through reading your profile. I don't know what it is, exactly, but something about your profile really intrigued me, so I decided to reply. If possible, how about get back in touch with me, so we can maybe arrange to meet up somewhere over a casual dinner or something. OH, and by the way, I'm a red-head, too!"_

Wilt could not believe his luck. It was all he could do not to leap for joy at that moment, knowing that now, he actually had a chance of winning this thing, and keeping his one and only personal effect from a by-gone time and place, all with the help, ironically, of the person who'd created his rival in this bet! As he went back and read the profile for the person, he noted that she was much younger than he was. Hopefully, in his case, that wouldn't be too big a problem. I mean, it wasn't like he was looking to MARRY her, now was it? One date-that's all he needed, that and persuading her to show up at the home-hopefully Bloo would be satisfied with seeing her and Wilt out front. No big deal, right?

Mac brought something else to Wilt's attention. "Look, in her profile, it says that she is looking forward to meeting someone who's really open-minded, like her. You know what that means, Wilt?"

Wilt knew that he should have a reply, but at the moment his thoughts were racing along faster than his mouth could keep up, so he only could manage what he realized probably seemed to Mac to be a really dumb look.

No matter, Mac was more than happy to tell him what it meant. "It means that maybe it won't bother her too much once she finds out that you're…you know, not human. I mean, if it's just for one date, it's not like you're gonna ask her to marry you or anything!" Mac paused for a moment, as if in thought, then added, "But Wilt, what are you gonna do in case the two of you meet up somewhere, and she DOES get all upset that you're really an Imaginary Friend? THEN what?"

Wilt sighed, placing his hand on his right knee. "Well, I guess I'm just gonna haveta cross that bridge when I get to it, right? Here, how about help me come up with somthin' to say to her, something that won't make me sound like a complete idiot, if that's OK!" he added with a chuckle.

"Aw, man, you're not an idiot! You and Frankie probably are the two smartest ones here at this house! But OK, let's make this quick, before Bloo finds out I'm helping you with this!"


End file.
